


Stones Thrown Before the Tide

by MizDirected



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Science Fiction, Time Travel, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 06:39:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 135,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5446856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizDirected/pseuds/MizDirected
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the race to fire the Crucible, Urdnot Wrex arrives on the Citadel with Shepard instead of Anderson. When he hears the Catalyst's options, he's determined to leave only one choice: destroy the Reapers. Rippling backwards 300 yrs, his actions send himself and three others on a journey that'll do far more than change history, it may destroy everything. Cussing, violence, sex. CD/AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One - Damn it Wrex!

**Author's Note:**

> Eventually--many chapters down the road--there will be some triggery stuff, but as always, the instances will be well marked and non-graphic. I'm never in the business of traumatizing people. And that includes the Garrus/OC pairing. ;) Don't panic. You know me, die hard Shakarian. :D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damn it, Wrex! The charge for the beam and what came after.

**Part One: Among the Stones Thrown Before the Tide ...**

(A-N: Canon compliant Fem!Shepard, Shakarian, colonist, war hero, infiltrator ... right up until the race for the beam to the Citadel.)

Few things made Urdnot Wrex happier than explosions tearing apart the world around him. The bass notes of heavy munitions rumbling beneath the staccato beat of assault rifles, the harsh counterpoint of shotguns belching death, the unearthly thrum-whomp of singularities detonating. No, nowhere filled him with greater joy and exhilaration than standing at the head of a glorious orchestra of wanton destruction.

The Urdnot clan leader took a deep breath of smoke and chaos, striding along the line of his troops, all bloodied and magnificent in their rage. "We hold." He shouted to be heard over the shitstorm. "Krogan don't run, they hold back the horde." Gesturing away from the beam, toward the city, he laughed, low and threatening, as Reaper ground troops swarmed out of the buildings.

"Captains! Hold here! Give the crazed pyjaks their chance to get to the beam." When they roared their acknowledgement, he turned to his squad of ten. "Our battle is getting Shepard to the Citadel to end this war!"

Below his position on the ridge, across the open wasteland around the beam, humans, turians, and asari raced toward the pillar of white light, dodging the enemy's massive lasers and the death throes of their own equipment. Reapers of every size landed, the ground quaking beneath them as their massive red lasers carved up the galaxy's few remaining warriors. Tanks, APCs, even gunships crashed and exploded, adding death on top of death, layering it thick and grisly.

What a tremendous day to be alive.

In the center of the field, Wrex lost sight of the one body he'd refused to take his eyes off of since the beginning: the one he'd sworn his life to protect. A tank exploded, spinning through the air, arcing with a dancer's grace before it impacted, cloaking Commander Jane Shepard and her tiny squad in flame. Uttering an enraged bellow of denial, Wrex charged, slamming through husks, cannibals and marauders like a wrecking ball.

"I am Urdnot Wrex!" He paused, massive chest heaving, his entire body thrumming with the four beat battle song of his pounding hearts. "Leader of the united krogan clans!" He roared a challenge at a banshee, sent a warp flying at it, and charged in the wake of his attack. The banshee crumpled in the onslaught, broken like a toy in the hands of an overeager child. "And I will crush you all."

He spotted Shepard helping Garrus limp toward the _Normandy_ as the frigate flew in, tiny against the Reapers that stomped across the ground like ancient gods. The ship hovered above the destruction and lowered its ramp. Was Shepard leaving? No! He roared his bloodlust and ferocious challenge. His blood sister would never run from battle, not if he had to carry her until one or both of them died. Maintaining his charge, he raced toward the little ship, dividing his krogan to cover his flanks.

Shotguns thundered, a constant, chaotic storm, but his orders boomed out over the madness. "Barl, left flank, hold back those brutes!" He stabbed a finger toward an advancing line of the abominations. "Crel, clear me a path down the middle!"

His troops split, and a vicious smile slashed across Wrex's face at the sheer beauty of their brutality. No one could stand against the free krogan or those with whom they shed blood!

The _Normandy's_ thrusters kicked in, maneuvering the frigate clear of the ground. It swept into the sky, explosions painting its ascension in hues of blood and fire. Wrex took a breath to curse the crew for deserting them, but then he caught sight of a small figure, a frail insect racing amidst the giants. When his roar cut from his throat, it came out filled with awe, a wordless cry of devotion to a sister of blood and heart if not of birth.

If it proved to be the last act of Urdnot Wrex's life, he'd make sure Shepard made it to that beam. What more glory could any krogan ask for? As his sons and daughters took their place among the new galactic order, they would sing songs of their father and his glorious, bloody end … how he laughed as he ripped the heads from Reaper monsters. And he _would_ have sons and daughters thanks to that tiny warrior and her massive heart.

The ground trembled beneath another half dozen of the capital Reapers landing, their numbers laying waste to the allied troops. Lasers carved canyons across the ground, splitting the earth open and devouring everything in their path.

But not Urdnot Wrex! Not that day! Fury lent him grace as he dodged laser strike after laser strike, his eyes never leaving Shepard. Steadily, muscles burning, lungs heaving, he gained ground on her until she ran only a few arm lengths away.

Brilliant, crimson light blinded him, a blast of impossible heat and explosive force flinging him through the air as easily as he kicked a pyjak out of his path. His barriers crumbled, and his armour melted into slag that burned through his skin and into his flesh. Pain screamed, turning his vision as black as his charred hide, but then it vanished, driven out by the rage that flooded his veins, setting fire to his body from the inside. When he roared, mindless fury shattered the eerie silence. He staggered to his feet, dragging himself on all fours, his single working arm keeping him from toppling over. Only one thought remained in his head as the blood rage covered the agony of injuries reversing in slow motion: Shepard must reach the beam.

He could stand without bracing himself by the time he found her, but only the one arm managed enough strength to lift her burned and unconscious form. Draping her over his elbow like a towel, he staggered on, gradually gaining momentum as the billion stinging wasps trapped inside his body did their work repairing his limbs and the damage done to his internal organs and spine. By the time the small cluster of husks scrambled out of one of the pits carved by Harbinger's laser, he'd reached charge speed, and pieces of them returned to the pit from where they came.

He barely registered the marauder before it turned to muck beneath his feet, then brilliant white light tore him from the earth and flung him through the airless void, a sensation that made him wonder how many of his parts and pieces had been left behind.

"Wrex?"

Dead bodies. Rotting bodies lay strewn around him, heaped and stinking, mouldering refuse. The stench filled his head and siphoned down into his gut, but he blocked it out. He'd smelled worse, and air circulated from somewhere. Once he got up and lifted his face above the rotting puddles of flesh, it should fade somewhat. Dragging himself up out of the putrid slime, he crawled over to where the floor was halfway clear and flopped over onto one hip.

"Wrex?"

He didn't recognize the voice, small and broken, haggard and twisted, but he recognized the pile of burned armour lying a metre or so away. "Shepard?"

"Yeah, it's me. Or some of me." A laugh as small and broken as her voice gave him some hope as he crawled to her side. "I'm fucked up, Wrex. Pretty damned fucked up, but we've got a job to do." Shepard lifted her head and yanked her shoulder underneath her. "Is my belt pouch still there?"

He looked. It was melted into her armour, but fairly intact. "Medigel?" he asked, already opening it.

"As much as I've got. Just keep sticking it to me." She chuckled again and let her head hang from her neck, her forehead pressed to the floor. "Never thought I'd ask you to do that, did you?"

The injector port on her armour had been melted away, along with some of her arm, so he jabbed the medigel straight into a bare patch on her exposed hip. "Never thought I'd be looking at your naked rear, either, Shepard. That's more Garrus's battlefield." He administered four more shots and one of painkillers, then heaved himself up and held out a hand. "Come on, Shepard. Let's end this."

She grabbed his hand, her grip still strong, but it took him to haul her up. After limping three steps, she stopped and looked at him. "You look rough; are you up to carrying me? If I walk, it's going to take us a week to get anywhere."

He tested both arms and, finding the second healed enough to lift her, seated her in the crook of his elbow. She wrapped one arm around his hump, clinging to what remained of his armour like the pyjak she was, and held out a hand. "Give me a pistol, just in case."

He did as she said, arming himself with his shotgun. "Never thought I'd live to see the day that you let someone carry you, Shepard." Looking around, he spotted a thin path through the bodies that ended at a door fifteen or so metres ahead. "That way?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

He staggered a little, struggling to find his balance through his injuries and Shepard's added weight, slight though it was. The floor, slippery with the waste of the Citadel's former occupants didn't help. Along both sides of the path, Keepers moved amidst the dead, stripping armour and clothing off the bodies.

The door opened automatically as they approached, on the other side, a steep downgrade took them toward a brilliant light in the distance. "Where the hell are we, Shepard?" Wrex leaned back, hobbling a little as he shortened his strides to ease the passage down.

"I don't know." Shepard bit off a pained grunt with each lumbering step, so he slowed, trying to smooth his gait. "Not any part of the Citadel that I've ever seen." She took a deep breath, the air sounding wet and gurgling as it struggled in and out of her chest. Wrex may not know human anatomy, but he knew the sound of death when he heard it. His friend … his sister … had minutes to live.

"You okay, big fella?" she asked, leaning into his body a little harder, her arm clinging with a little less strength.

"Yeah, redundant systems and regeneration, remember?" He shifted his grip to hold her a little more securely as he crossed the narrow flat at the bottom of the strange, metal chasm, and looked up the other side. "You're the one who sounds like she's bleeding out inside." He nodded toward the climb. "Let's get this done."

Shepard coughed, wet and thick, a gob of bloody phlegm landing on the floor in front of them. "Better keep moving," she whispered, leaning in to rest her head against his armour. "Don't think you're far wrong on my bleeding out."

"Don't die on me, Shepard," he said, growling a little at the end. "I need you to work all the tech. Answering my messages and spending my credits pushes the limits of my tech skills."

He heard the smile in her sigh. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere until the Reapers die." Another cough, another splatter of blood on the floor.

They reached the top of the climb, stepping out onto a short walkway that led to a broad, round platform. A console stood on the far side. He might not know tech, but he knew enough to carry her across. To her credit, Shepard remained silent. That was one of the first things that drew him to her: the fact she never considered him stupid. She gave him a lot of credit, probably too much sometimes, but that had gained his respect and his trust.

Ahead of them, the lights of thousands of buildings still shone, millions of candles burning to mark the lives lived and lost on the massive station. He clenched his jaw and pushed on, keenly aware of the lack of the sounds that marked life amidst those of the great machine.

"Wrex." Shepard's voice seemed even tinier, weaker, less hers as it broke that eerie hum. "Set me down." Pushing herself upright, Shepard passed him the pistol and grabbed hold of the front plate of his armour.

He set her on her feet, then wrapped his arm around her to help her stand. Razor wire strands of pride, affection, rage, and grief sliced through his guts to wrap around his hearts, slowly slicing them into pieces as he watched her hands move over the interface. They didn't make lifeforms tougher and stronger than Jane Shepard even as her light began to dim, another candle about to be lit.

"I underestimated you, Shepard." The voice, male and smooth, came from behind.

Wrex leaned in close to Shepard's ear. "You all right on your own?" he whispered too softly to be heard by the enemy approaching on their six.

She nodded, the barest twitch of her head, as she continued working.

"I warned you," the voice continued, "control is the means to survival."

Wrex turned, scarcely registering the horror of the man's appearance—husk-like black skin and glowing circuitry erupting through broken flesh—before he charged. Dark tendrils of energy snaked through the air between them, but even as Wrex's body began to pull itself to a halt, impact. The wet crunch of bones breaking shattered the peace and the fist tightening around Wrex's brain released its grip.

Shepard chuckled, then let out a long groan and folded over the console. "Never monologue when there's a krogan in the room. That's lesson one." As Wrex returned to her side, she hit a final control, and with a series of bangs that shook the entire Citadel, the arms began to open. "Thank God," she sighed, crumpling to the floor. Kneeling next to her, he eased her up until she sat, her back pressed against him.

"Don't go anywhere just yet," he warned her, his hand gripped her shoulder. "We don't know if we're done here."

His radio crackled as the mission channel opened. "This is it, everyone, the arms are opening," Admiral Hackett's voice called out from the black. "Ten seconds to docking." Finding himself holding his breath, Wrex laughed, a rough, ironic rumble. He'd waited until the very last to let nerves take hold.

"That's it," Hackett continued, "the Crucible is docked."

"Did we do it?" Shepard asked. "Dear God, did we actually do it?" She slumped against him, her eyes closing, mouth hanging open as soft gasps panted between her lips. "I think I'm done, Wrex." She swallowed hard, tears cutting through the grime on her face. "Tell Garrus-"

"Shepard?" Hackett again. Shepard didn't move. "Commander?"

A small grunt acknowledged the admiral, but Shepard's eyes didn't open, and she showed no sign of actually having heard the call.

"They're not done with you, Shepard." Wrex eased her up. "They still need you. Wake up!"

She stirred at his bellow. "What do you need me to do?" she asked. Either some part of her had heard Hackett's call, or she'd just been programmed to assume every summons was a cry for help. Struggling, she tried to stand, but only managed to topple over onto her face.

"Nothing's happening," Hackett replied. "The Crucible's not firing. It's got to be something on your end."

Shepard pawed at the floor with one hand.

"Commander Shepard!"

Wrex heaved himself up then opened a channel to reply. "She's nearly dead, but don't worry, she'll save your pyjak asses, just like she always does." He lifted Shepard into his arms, cradling her gently so that she could see the controls. "They need you to activate the Crucible. What button is it?"

Head wobbling brokenly on her neck, she looked down, then reached out, fingers trembling. "I don't see … I don't know how to … ." Her head drooped, and her arms fell to dangle bonelessly from her shoulders.

Wrex laid her down on the floor and stood over her, trying to decipher the myriad of controls and gauges and readouts. "Shepard's unconscious, and I don't know how to work any of this."

"Wrex?"

The krogan's head snapped up. Garrus? "Vakarian, is that you?"

"I'm on my way to your position. Is Shepard alive?" The turian's voice came through strained and flat, clearly still injured and in pain, but strong and determined.

"She's alive, but not for long. They need us to make the Crucible fire, but I don't know what I'm doing. Get down here!" Relief flooded through him. Garrus would know what to do. The turian would be able to make it fire so that he and Shepard could finally rest.

"I'm nearly there. Hold on."

"Garrus?" Shepard's head moved a little. "Is that … ?" As she spoke, her voice carried as much doubt as wonder. "I sent you away on the _Normandy_."

"And I came back to get you." The turian sounded as though he was about to leap through the radio. "You hold on. You made me a promise, and I'm going to hold you to it."

The floor under Wrex's left foot began to move, lifting up into the air. For a half-second, he poised to pull it back, but it lifted Shepard up and away from him. Grumbling, he cursed himself under his breath and jumped up, crouching next to Shepard to make sure she didn't tumble off. She never moved under his hand, scarcely drawing breath.

The little raft floated up through the open ceiling, closing on a white light. It seared into his eyes, daggers stabbing into his skull. Wrex slammed his eyelids closed, his arm lifting to shield his face, and the pain eased. When the glare dimmed, and he opened his eyes again, they'd cleared the Citadel's structure. Space surrounded them on all sides, and he could see the battle going on around them. Ahead, at the end of a long platform of gleaming metal, a beam of energy roared from upward into the—

The krogan battlemaster stood and gaped, his mouth hanging open as he stared up at what must be the Crucible. Maybe the massive machine had brought them up to activate it. Movement drew his attention back to floor level, his mouth closing to swallow, then dropping open again as a small human child formed of glowing energy strode toward them, its steps quick and purposeful.

Wrex could remember few moments of true, stark terror in his life, but that alien place and its even more alien inhabitant scared him more than anything he could recall. And that included facing down the hologram of Sovereign as it told Vakarian, Shepard, and himself that their galaxy was completely screwed.

He crouched, one hand shaking Shepard's shoulder gently. "Shepard, wake up."

The commander stirred, lifting herself up onto a braced arm and coughed, blood splattering the sterile surface. "What, Wrex?" She looked around, her eyes squinting as if she couldn't focus. "Did the Crucible fire?" Looking up into his face, she blinked a couple of times, her eyelids sagging. "I thought I heard Garrus."

The glowing child stopped in front of them. It regarded Wrex for a moment, then appeared to dismiss him in favour of Shepard. Just as well, the thing made his tongue sweat and his plates itch.

"Wake up!" the child commanded and took a step back.

Shepard's head turned, reeling a little on her neck before she stopped to stare at the child. "Wrex?" she called softly, his name forming a question about both her sanity and living or dead status.

"It's real, Shepard. At least I think it's real." He stood and bent over to help her up, supporting her with an arm wrapped around her back when she managed to find her feet.

"Where are we?" she mumbled, turning a little to look out at the wreckage, the ships burning in space, the constant light show of beam weapons and explosions.

"The Citadel," the child answered. "It is my home. I am the Catalyst."

Wrex allowed Shepard to take a step forward, loosening his grip a little as she tested her legs, finding a strength he didn't think she'd possessed. If she could stand, he was more than willing to let her deal with the glowing kid and trying to fire the Crucible. Nothing in the half-millennia of his life had prepared Wrex for any of that madness. His place was shooting his way through the enemy, not handling the insanity of million-cycle-old AIs and creepy glowing children with voices straight out of the pits. That had been Shepard's job from the start, and she could keep it.

"The Catalyst?" Shepard asked, taking another step, pausing to buttress herself with a hand against her thigh as Wrex's support lessened. Her head hung for a moment before she forced it back up. "I thought the Citadel was the Catalyst."

"Wrex? Where are you?" Garrus's voice came through, badly broken with static. "I'm on the platform. You and Shepard aren't."

Half-listening to the Catalyst explain to Shepard that the Citadel was a part of it, Wrex backed off a couple of steps. "We're somewhere between the Citadel and the Crucible. Shepard's talking to the Catalyst. Can you find us?"

"Wrex, you're breaking up. Repeat. Where are you?"

The channel died, leaving Wrex no doubt as to what had cut them off. Turning to the Catalyst, he found the entity staring at him. The thing held the stare for a second, then turned and began to walk toward the energy beam.

"I need to stop the Reapers," Shepard said, limping after it. "I need to fire the Crucible. Do you know how?"

It glanced back but didn't stop. "Perhaps. I control the Reapers. They are my solution."

Wrex followed, staying close enough to Shepard to grab her if her strength gave out, but not so close as to include himself in their discussion. He didn't give two shits what the Reapers were or where they came from. He just cared that they needed to be blown into scrap. As he looked out over the battle, rage returned, smouldering under his plates. Why did Shepard spar with words, listening to the Catalyst's lies, allowing the Reapers to buy time? Surely she would never let it convince her to spare it?

It's explanations and excuses, it's logic—so flawed, even he saw the holes—didn't matter. What lie outside the glaring light, out in the black, the fire and death … the untold lives awaiting their righteous vengeance, the untold lives yet to be born only to face the horror of the harvest … those mattered. They were all that mattered, and they called out for one thing: the utter destruction of the Reapers.

And yet, Shepard listened. Barely able to stand, coughing her life's blood out onto the floor, she listened as it told her how to destroy them. Wrex crept closer as it continued, chilling his blood with its other options: controlling the Reapers or perverting every living thing into some bastardized form of machine life: part organic, part machine? Never! He hadn't stopped Saren from turning his people into puppets just to let Shepard do the same thing. He'd kill her before he allowed her to disgrace the billions who'd spilled their blood to end the Reapers.

"Why are you listening to this … thing, Shepard?" Wrex asked, his voice roaring in the near silence. "They couldn't force their synthesis solution on the galaxy, but now it'll work when you force it on us? You've fought for three cycles so the galaxy could choose its future, and now you're going to force us to accept becoming part machine?"

He stormed over to the child-creature, a thunderhead ripe with lightning ready to strike. "And control them? How do you trust that this thing won't just kill you while leaving the rest of us to be wiped out?" He slapped his pistol against her chest, nearly knocking her down. "There's one solution; the one we came here to see done. Destroy them and finish this."

Shepard grasped the gun against her, weaving slightly as she staggered, regaining her footing. "If I destroy the Reapers, I destroy EDI and the geth. And then the Morning War will come again in a generation or three or five."

"And you'll make peace again, like you did with the geth. Like you did between the turians and the krogan." He straightened, filling his chest so full of air that pain sliced him everywhere the armour had burned through his plating. "If the krogan had to sacrifice themselves to save the rest of the galaxy … if you asked us, we would. We are. Every species is out there, sacrificing themselves for the rest." Roaring his frustration, he gripped her shoulders, barely able to keep himself from throttling her. "None of us are guaranteed to survive this, but we're still fighting to kill these bastard machines."

He stared into her eyes, seeing nothing in the dull green orbs but exhaustion, pain, and confusion.

"It's begging for its life, Shepard. Don't listen." She had fallen past her ability to comprehend his words. "There is only one solution," he said, this time looking to the Catalyst. "And that is your destruction." He threw an arm out to encompass the Reapers still tearing their way through the fleets. "It's their destruction."

If Shepard didn't have enough left to make the right decision, he'd make sure she had only one option. He spun toward the energy beam and broke into a run, charging down the platform in case the Catalyst figured out what he intended to do and tried to stop him. At the last second, he turned along the path to the left, where the two conduits and their handles crackled with energy.

He winced away from the raw current, feeling the sheer power of it arcing over his hide even as he bent forward and charged, wrapping one arm around each of the small towers. Bellowing with the effort, he threw himself backwards, yanking at them with all his strength. A swarm of _netichiks_ , the power from those conduits gnawed at his flesh, tearing him apart as it arced and sizzled along his body.

"No!" the Catalyst screamed, its voice losing the top layer of child-like innocence, howling like the evil it was. "You'll destroy everything. The Crucible is a source of incalculable power! It will rip a hole in the universe."

Explosions shredded the platform, firing molten shrapnel into Wrex's face as he wrenched the conduits loose. "One decision. The most important decision in our history!" he roared over the maelstrom. Spinning, he charged back the way he came. "Destroy them, Shepard."

The commander, his sister in blood and now death, looked at the pistol in her hand, then nodded and took her first step toward the path to the right and the mechanisms she needed to destroy. Wrex's shouts transformed into one long, defiant bellow as he turned onto the main walkway, racing toward the massive beam of energy.

"One decision!" Ten metres or so away from the beam, he threw the conduits toward the searing pillar of light. "Only one! The most important decision—

Brilliant, blinding, burning, tearing light.

A light that felt like dying ...

Scorching, consuming, deafening heat.

… and then being born again.

"Wrex?" A strong hand thumped him in the back of the head hard enough to rattle his teeth together. "Wrex? Wake up. How can you sleep? We're late." The hand thumped him again, harder.

Wrex opened one eye and threw up a hand, shading his face against the light blazing in his face. Taking a deep breath, he scowled, his lungs filling with dry, dusty air that carried with it a thousand scents and flavours, including the odours of other krogan and roasting meat. The cold of space had transformed into a fiery, baking heat. He bolted upright, heaving himself up off broken stone and concrete, and spun, coming face to face with the sneering face of Wreav.

Scrambling backwards, he clambered the rest of the way to his feet, and turned a full circle, stumbling over rubble. "Where … ?" No, he knew where he was. He was home. Tuchanka. The Hollows. Where wasn't the question. Looking back at his dead brother, he reached out, gripping the other krogan's armour, the metal and ceramic solid in his hand. "What is going on here?" He dragged Wreav closer. "You're dead."

Wreav laughed, harsh and cold. "No, but if we keep Jarrod waiting, we all will be."

* * *

(A-N: This idea has been burning a hole in my brain for nearly a year. I told it to leave me alone, that I had other stories I needed to finish first, but it has been remarkably stubborn. So, here we have the first chapter of Stones Thrown Before the Tide. It's going to be a bear the likes of Future Non-Finite, but it will also be updated just as I get chapters sorted and down. Sassy and her boys are still my priority, but yeah … I can't resist the opportunity to completely mess with the timeline in a really massive way. I hope you enjoy the show.)


	2. Chapter Two - The Blood-soaked Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A crooked smile bared Wrex's teeth, Aralakh's sweltering heat anchoring him in the present, the ground solid and dusty beneath his boots. "I'm fine." He turned to face his krantt, making sure to keep Wreav where he could see him. However he'd arrived, it was a chance to change the outcome of that day and Jarrod's treachery.

**Qisan** : (pronounced kih-san where the h represents a guttural grunt) Male after undergoing the rite of passage. Plural: Qisax

 **Qadin** : (pronounced kah-din) Female after undergoing the rite of passage (female version)

 **Sikah:** A ritual dagger made from the tooth of a thresher maw awarded to young krogan after the rite of passage. In ancient krogan society, the daggers were used in duels over matters of honour. Great warriors collected the blades of those they'd slain, wearing them slotted into a bandolier made of thresher hide.

**1809 CE - Tuchanka, The Hollows.**

Wrex tilted his head to stare his brood brother, Wreav, in the eye. "Jarrod? He's alive?" He reached up, running his fingers over his head plate, searching for his scars. No deep furrows dug through the heavy casing. He scowled, confusion digging under his plates and into his flesh like giant sand ticks. A minute before, he'd been making sure Shepard could only make one decision: the right one, to destroy the Reapers. Now he stood upon ground left more than three hundreds cycles in the past?

Was Tuchanka a dream? He didn't often dream, and even less often about the day he killed Jarrod. He'd lived a long life, and had a lot further to go. Too far to harbour regrets about things he couldn't change. Perhaps the Crucible had been the dream, but no, he prided himself on his lack of fanciful imagination even more than his lack of regrets. He couldn't have invented everything crowded into his memory. Besides, what dream spanned three hundred cycles in chronological order?

Wreav laughed, the sound so mocking that Wrex's trigger finger twitched, that animosity still fresh and bitter. "Keep acting insane, and Jarrod will put you out of our misery, brother."

One of Wrex's oldest friends stepped forward and clapped a massive hand down on the battlemaster's shoulder. "Dead krogan can't call a crush, Wrex," Urdnot Barl said, his bright amber eyes narrowed in concern. "You hit your head? You're acting like a pyjak on ryncol."

A crooked smile bared Wrex's teeth, Aralakh's sweltering heat anchoring him in the present, the ground solid and dusty beneath his boots. "I'm fine." He turned to face his krantt, making sure to keep Wreav where he could see him. However he'd arrived, it was a chance to change the outcome of that day and Jarrod's treachery.

Drawing himself up tall, he said, "The crush is a trap. Stay near the entrance, and when Jarrod's men attack, retreat off sacred ground before you pull your weapons. We won't be the ones to break our most sacred laws." He waited until each warrior agreed before he grinned, wide and threatening. "If Jarrod wants to kill me, he can do it out here."

"Jarrod would never break tradition that way," Wreav insisted. Sending little rockslides tumbling down the stairs as he stomped through the rubble, the warrior strode over to slam his chest into Wrex's. "You would insult your father's name?"

"I would piss on his corpse but not on sacred ground." Wrex looked to each of the seven warriors waiting for him, a krantt he'd cherished once, each ugly face trusted … a brother. He glanced at Wreav. Except for his actual brother. Wreav had brought him word of the crush, and Wrex had always suspected his brother of conspiring with Jarrod. Even though the pair weren't father and son, they held similar enough beliefs to be kin, neither intelligent enough to imagine possibilities other than fighting until the krogan fell into extinction, their flame extinguished forever.

Speaking of intelligence … . Wrex drew in a long breath. He knew a trap waited for him at the bottom of those stairs, but how did he keep his quad out of Jarrod's vice? Looking over the area, he searched for somewhere to mount a good, solid defense. When the fighting started, he could count on seven warriors at his back. Wreav would either throw in with Jarrod or hide and wait to see who won, the second being the more likely. Wrex's krantt was a different matter entirely, he trusted each of them to his last breath. In that other life, they'd died defending him.

Forty metres up the road, the crumbling remains of an old temple stuck out of the ground like a jaw full of broken teeth. That would do. The gate forced Jarrod's warriors to slow and come through two at a time, negating the advantage of their numbers. Once only Jarrod stood, Wrex would face him on open ground, one to one.

Plan decided, his eyes locked back on Wreav. "You trust Jarrod? Fine, take point." Gesturing toward the entrance, he waited for Wreav to take the lead, disappearing through the door.

Turning to his krantt, he stabbed a finger toward the gap that had once been a grand set of gates. "We'll pull back to the ruins. Move fast. We don't want to give Jarrod's men time to shoot us in the back." When they acknowledged his orders, Wrex sucked in a deep breath and grinned, his hearts pounding out the rhythm of a glorious battle that ended in victory and honour rather than the disgrace of the past.

Wrex stepped through the door, the cool air of the Hollows sending a chill down his spine after the shimmering heat of Tuchanka's wasteland. As he descended the stairs to the floor of the sacred burial site, Wrex looked up, taking note of how many krogan Jarrod had brought to witness his 'victory' over his heretical son. The first time or other time—whichever—Wrex walked down those steps, he'd sensed the trap, but he'd been the youngest krogan to lead his own clan, elevated thanks to his skill and daring in battle. In other words, he'd been an arrogant ass.

By killing Jarrod on sacred ground, a place where violence was forbidden, he'd lost the respect of his clan. Losing his krantt in his father's betrayal left no witnesses to speak to Jarrod's treachery. Wreav crawled out of whatever hole he'd hidden in, the treacherous bastard claiming he didn't know what happened. He hadn't accused Wrex, but he hadn't spoken out against Jarrod either.

Betrayed and disgusted by his people's insistence on clinging to their violent, self-destructive past, Wrex left and stayed away for over three hundred cycles.

He rolled his shoulders back and lowered his head between them. When Jarrod called for a crush the first time, Wrex had believed himself capable of changing his father's mind. He didn't make the same mistakes twice. Any of them.

"Wrex!" the warlord called from across the chamber. "I thought you weren't coming." Jarrod shook his head and stepped forward. "Maybe there's a krogan hiding inside that armour after all."

Wrex stopped at the base of the stairs, his krantt spread up the flight in two lines. He stared for a long moment, trying to remember if there had ever been a time when he felt anything for his father but contempt and rage. Nothing came to mind. One of the great injustices of the genophage lie in its failure to eliminate the undesirable specimens from the breeding pool. His father had sired enough offspring to believe it made him worthy of great things … made him more than a sperm donor. Wrex knew better.

"I'm all krogan," Wrex replied, trying to slide a heavy layer of menace under the words. As he stared at his father with his new, older eyes, the only feeling he discovered was pity. Jarrod was a small, terrified qisan clinging to the past because he lacked the imagination and courage to face the unknown and take the risks necessary to create a better future.

Wrex took a long breath. "Why did you summon me?" he demanded, despite knowing.

"You would destroy everything the krogan are." Jarrod closed three steps, his voice gaining volume and passion with every word. "Everything that makes us strong. Krogan were created to fight, to conquer and kill, not sit around mewling about peace or cooing over pups like qadin!" He looked to his supporters, raising his arms as they roared and chanted his name.

"You would leave behind a galaxy cleansed of our kind," Wrex responded, keeping his voice low and even. Losing his temper would gain him no ground with Jarrod, but exact a heavy price in dignity, which would resonate with those watching long past those fleeting moments. "Who will you wage war against? The turians? The salarians? The council itself?"

Jarrod laughed, harsh and bitter. "All of them. The galaxy would know the might of the krogan, and fear it as they once did." Once again, he looked to his audience to cheer him on, their roar of agreement deafening as it echoed off the vaulted cement.

"Who will transport your mighty army to battle?" Wrex closed one step, drawing himself up. Physically, he dwarfed his father, even with decades left to grow and fill out. "Rented transports?" He laughed, low and dangerous. "Will you smuggle them in one at a time on commercial transports or in crates?"

Jarrod bristled and stormed over to face Wrex down. "Show some respect, whelp." He slammed a shoulder into Wrex's chest. "I would see the krogan feared throughout the galaxy."

Wrex just shook his head. "If you managed to transport your army to battle, your first campaign would end in a rout. Turians defend even their colonies too well for the size of army you could rally." He scoffed, a guttural grunt of disgust erupting from his chest. "Your warriors would all die and then the hierarchy would send its fleet to destroy the rest of us, down to the last pup." Studying Jarrod's eyes, Wrex tried to judge how close his father tipped toward summoning the attack. He needed to time his final defiance for maximum effect. Jarrod would give up the advantage of high ground reluctantly. Only blind rage would pull him out into the open.

"The turians and salarians believe us beaten," Jarrod called out, backing away from Wrex just enough to play to his audience. "We must show them that the krogan remain undefeated, that even the genophage cannot break our spirit."

Wrex laughed, low and deep, letting the pity he felt for Jarrod's shortsightedness bleed through it. "And when you can't get your warriors to battle?" Wrex looked up, posing the question to Jarrod's supporters rather than the warlord. "Who do you attack then? The other clans?"

"Warring between clans is our way!" Jarrod shouted, his temper starting to crack. "Your plan robs the krogan of their hearts, asking them to ignore the call of their spirits. You would have us bow before the cowardly pyjaks who rewarded our sacrifice with betrayal."

"I would have the krogan people survive." Wrex continued to address Jarrod's qisax, turning his back to the warlord's blustering. "When you have destroyed the other clans, then who will you fight? Who will you teach to fight when only a handful of pups are hatched each cycle? What will become of our qadix?" With each question, Wrex shouted out louder, but with less anger and more heart.

"Will you fight each other over the females? And how many of them will be killed as you do?" Wrex let that question hang in the air for a long moment, before turning on Jarrod, lunging into his father's face. "Until today, I believed that it was the genophage that reduced us to animals, snarling and fighting over scraps." A hearty chuff of derision followed his words. "But the genophage isn't what destroyed the krogan. The krogan have always been their own worst enemy."

Jarrod's rage had reached a full boil, his entire body trembling with shackled violence and madness in equal quantities. A low growl rolled in the warlord's throat as he pushed into Wrex. "You're no krogan nor any son of mine! Before these witnesses, I name you a traitor to the krogan people."

Laughing deep and full, Wrex turned his back on Jarrod again, his throaty roar echoing back as he challenged them all. "When there are no males left to fight, will you become rapers and murderers of qadix in order to prove your strength? Where does it end?" He spun around to shove his face into his father's, spilling three hundred cycles of bile and hatred into his stare. "You would leave the krogan as nothing more than a memory blowing in the sand of a dead planet."

Stepping back, Wrex braced his neck and shoulders, then lunged at Jarrod, slamming his crest down into the smaller krogan's, dropping Jarrod to his knees. "You're not even worth the piss it would take to drown you." He heard his krantt retreating up the stairs and backed away from the stunned warlord, following. Time to retreat.

A crushing sorrow wrapped both of his hearts in razor wire fists, insisting he try to reach the rest. "I know what Jarrod planned," he shouted up to the roaring onlookers. "His madness would drag him so low as to kill in this sacred place. He has asked you to follow him into dishonour by killing those who offer you no threat. Is that what you want to turn the krogan into?" He stared down at Jarrod for another second, disgust outweighing hatred or pity. The warlord amounted to no more than a boil on the backside of the entire race, a boil Wrex intended to lance. "Pathetic."

Even though he knew it risked taking a shotgun blast or knife to the back, he turned around and walked up the stairs, his head high, his shoulders back and broad, his entire being broadcasting how big a mistake it would be to attack him.

Aralakh beat down on his head, merciless and invigorating as he exited the Hollows. Tuchanka did not coddle the weak, nor did it reward the strong. Tuchanka punished everything upon its surface equally, playing no favourites and taking no sides as it killed. Nowhere in the galaxy had ever made him feel quite so alive, and he roared with the fierce, savage joy of it. He didn't know how or why, but the Crucible had sent him home, his youth renewed, his krantt strong and vicious at his side, the future of his people placed in his hands.

Once free of the Hollows, Wrex broke into a lumbering run, sliding down the heap of rubble, his hearts beating heavy and quick, war drums pounding at the inside of his plates. Ahead of him, his krantt ran, hollering banter back and forth, their blood running as molten as his own, their spirits light with the promise of battle. Blood and bone, it filled his belly with fire to see them alive and filled with youth and strength and all the stupid bravado their thick heads could hold. They reached the ruins, clambering into positions to cover the entrance, and none too soon.

The first shotgun blast hit Wrex in the middle of his back, throwing him forward. Scrambling, armoured claws scrabbling at the ruined street, he managed to stay on his feet and moving forward. The second round clipped his shields, spinning him around. Using the momentum, he pulled his assault rifle, spraying Jarrod's men with automatic fire, the distance too great for his shotgun. The ember burning deep in his heart ignited, pouring fire into his veins and he laughed, a deep sound as bone-chillingly gleeful as it was ferocious and filled to the brim with life.

His pursuers slowed as his rounds began punching holes through their armour and flesh. When they registered the meat grinder awaiting them, caution began to outweigh Jarrod's orders. Still. a few of the old guard pushed to the fore, their rage at the insult to their leader blinding them while the others dropped back. Wrex grinned, a cold gash of bloodlust opening across his face as he focused on them. He knew them all, storied heroes of the rebellions, some even of the rachni war. They'd stand against him the longest, their voices the loudest in Jarrod's choir. They needed to die first.

Reaching the ruins, Wrex stood a metre inside the door. He wouldn't take cover. He wouldn't hide from the battle. Both his krantt and Jarrod's would see him face death full on, eyes wide and filled with the reckless joy of battle. If he fell, they would tell stories of how he faced his end.

But he wouldn't fall. Not that day. His blood sang with that truth. That day he'd stand victorious above his father's corpse, and his true battle would begin.

Jerrod crashed through the doors of the Hollows, his bellows ripe with fury and dripping blood rage like nectar, the smell and taste of it sweet as Wrex breathed it in, filling his lungs with his father's hatred. The bodies of Jarrod's krantt and followers littered the road, slowing the warlord's charge even as they fed his rage.

Twenty metres from the temple ruins, Jarrod stopped and threw his shotgun aside. Pulling his sikah, the warlord raised his arms over his head and roared out a challenge. Grinning, already able to feel Jarrod's blood flowing over his hands, Wrex passed Barl his guns. Unarmed except for his own sikah, he strode out to answer the challenge, blade raised, the polished tooth black and vicious as it reflected Aralakh's deadly rays.

Father and son circled one another, Jarrod clearing the field as he flung and kicked the bodies of his men aside. Wrex merely stepped around them, letting the warlord exhaust himself. Instead, he weighed his moment, watching and waiting for Jarrod to provide him with an opening.

In the end, Jarrod's rage chose Wrex's moment for him. The warlord charged, his blade low and angled to slide into Wrex's armour through the hip joint. Wrex spun into the charge. Grabbing Jarrod's knife arm, he carried on past, wrenching his father's shoulder clear out of its socket. The spin finished with Wrex facing Jarrod's back, the warlord's useless arm pinned between them. Wrex punched his blade through the shoulder seam of his father's armour, and ripped down, nearly severing the limb from his body.

"You are a disgrace to the krogan!" Wrex said, the words coming out in a thick, guttural roar. He shoved his father away from him, his blade still sunk into Jarrod's arm, turning the warlord and yanking the blade free in the same movement. "I won't let you destroy our people." Both hands wrapped around the hilt of his sikah, Wrex lunged, plunging the blade deep through Jarrod's armour and into his fore-heart, the serrated inside edge of the knife letting out a chattering, metallic shriek as it sliced through the metal and ceramic plating.

Heaving himself backwards, Wrex yanked the blade free, then plunged it in again, just slightly right of the first wound. When Jarrod collapsed, his last breath gurgling out through his armour, bubbles of blood a brilliant orange in the sunlight, Wrex tore the sikah from his father's hand, Holding both blades aloft, he let out a roar that felt as though it originated three hundreds cycles in the past … a roar of validation and righteous vengeance for centuries of lost wandering and wasted potential.

"I am Urdnot Wrex," he screamed out over the wastelands. "Aralakh's heat burns in my blood, the wind-driven sand scours me clean, and by the right of challenge and of victory, I am chief of clan Urdnot."

Hearing footsteps approaching him from behind, Wrex spun to face the few who hadn't rushed to the attack. When he spotted Wreav among them, a century old, chill fury slithered through the heady warmth of victory. One side of his mouth twitched back, more of a rictus than a smile, and he bared his teeth.

"Brother." Long rolling strides closed the distance between them. Pushing into Wreav's space, Wrex held his sikah up before his brother's eyes and watched the blood roll down the blade, thickening as it cooled. "You betrayed me," he said simply, then wiped the blade on Wreav's armour. "Then you cowered in the shadow of better warriors … better krogan, and waited to see who won."

"Wrex—" Wreav said, drawing himself up at the insult.

Wrex cut him off with a swipe of his blade, a careful slice that opened the thick hide of Wreav's throat but didn't sink deep enough to kill. Wreav leaped at him, snarling, but not with enough power to even make him step back.  Wrex shoved his brother away.  "You are exiled. Go walk the sands until you can find transport off Tuchanka. Never return."

When Barl and Prav grabbed Wreav's arms, pinning him between them, Wrex looked to the rest of Jarrod's warriors. "If you would lift Urdnot into a leader among clans, you can stay, but if you betray me or the clan, I will kill you. Urdnot will face challenges enough from outside, I won't tolerate varren ripping it apart from within." He turned toward the Urdnot camp. "Barl, Donx with me. The rest of you take the bodies into the Hollows and lay them to rest." As much as he didn't care about the traitors, his gut told him that to start mending the giant hole he'd just carved through his clan, he needed to show respect to the fallen, even Jarrod.

The few times he'd allowed himself to imagine how he would have felt if his history had played out differently, he'd envisioned feeling a great deal more … something. Victorious, perhaps … or as if justice had been served. The great hero of his people striding away from the field of battle, blood and viscera dripping from his armour, the people cheering. Well, perhaps not the last. After more than six hundred cycles, Wrex prided himself on self-knowledge above all, and imagination was not his strongest attribute.

Still, having avoided the disaster of his other past, he felt little other than a drive to get the work started … . He adjusted his armour, finding a portion of it growing snug. Indeed, he needed to get the work started … right after a visit to the female camp. He grinned as his much younger body moved over the sand, free of the aches and pains brought on by three hundred cycles of hard living. Yes, he'd hunt and take an offering to the chief of the female camp, and once his blood slowed, he'd begin.

The shotgun blast spun him around as it impacted his shields on his left side, but he didn't even get a chance to confirm that it was Wreav who took the shot before his krantt opened fire, seven shotguns tearing his brood brother into pieces.

Wrex retraced his steps, looming over his brother as Wreav gasped his last. "Leave this bastard for the varren," he ordered, holding his brother's stare. He cleared his throat, spitting a wad of dusty phlegm onto the corpse. "He doesn't deserve burial."


	3. Chapter Three - Blades and other sharp edges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If only being a clan leader and visionary didn't involve quite so much talking ...

**Uzluk -** The head and face covering worn by krogan females.

 **Gikgah** \- Ancient, ziggurat-like temple structures.

**1815 CE, Tuchanka, Urdnot Camp**

Blood sprayed in a gleaming arc, almost beautiful as Wrex watched it sweep through the air, a comet trail of fire opals blazing for just a second before disappearing into the dust. He grunted and turned from the blood to look over the corpses strewn before his seat. One moment, another thousand cycles of life and potential stood before him, the next, nothing more than blood feeding Tuchanka's insatiable appetite. Disappointment bit deeper than anger or bloodlust as the utter waste and the widening of the desert before him registered through the music of battle roaring inside his head.

"Spent too much time with humans and quarians," he muttered to himself. "Next thing, I'll be writing poetry." He hawked the dust from his throat and spat into the dirt. Pouring sentiment down the dead enemy well would leave his people drinking sand.

Bending down, Wrex wrenched the shotgun from the grip of the nearest corpse. He thrust it over his head in one hand, his dripping sikah clenched in the other. "Anyone else want to die today?" he bellowed to the gathered crowd. A heavy boot shoved the corpse off his dais, toward the small cluster of Gatatog that stood by to see if their challengers would bring down the Urdnot clan chief.

Throwing the shotgun to Barl, who stood off to one side, as motionless and grim as a statue, Wrex turned to take his seat. When he arrived, he spun to face the gathered crowd rather than sitting down.

"How many is that now?" he called out without expecting an answer. He nodded to his krantt, twenty warriors ugly as klixen and as vicious in Urdnot's defence as a thresher maw. "Gear up and bring the tomkahs around. We'll escort all of Uvenk's messengers to the edge of his territory." He waved a hand to disperse the crowd. "The rest of you have work to do."

"Wrex!"

The clan chief let out a sharp sigh and muttered a couple of choice words as he turned away from the female clan chief. He sat on his throne, settling himself thoroughly before he looked her way. "What do you want, Mellir?"

"You'll cause a war with Gatatog if you go after their camp," she said, keeping her voice low enough to remain between them. Well, and Barl, but Wrex's second didn't even twitch a muscle to indicate he'd heard.

Wrex nodded toward the corpses being dragged down to where they could be thrown into the back of a tomkah. "This is the third time Uvenk has sent assassins disguised as envoys. It'll be the last time he tests me, or it'll be war. I should have wiped his clan from the planet after the first, but I didn't kill Jarrod just to become him."

He tilted his head to watch the female chief, his eyes narrowed, appraising, but also respectful. She was a strong leader who never faltered in her passion nor had she ever failed to protect the females of their clan. He appreciated her counsel as well, even if he didn't always heed it. One day, he might even consider her an ally. What she'd end up being that day, he couldn't tell.

After a moment of meeting the challenge in her stare, he stood and strode down to stand beside her, facing out toward the firing range. "I won't attack their camp, but I intend to send a message that even Uvenk can understand."

"Six cycles is not long enough to change the krogan," Mellir insisted, turning to face him, her citrine stare boring through him like a hand drill. "If you force these changes on the other clans, it will only make it more difficult to reach your goals."

Wrex grunted. "If I had to, I could bring most of them around in two cycles, Mellir." Future history had proven that.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped up onto the dais, striding to stand before his throne. "The clans that have joined with Urndot have done so because we offer safety for their females and pups, enough food, and clean water." She placed a hand on the arm of the massive slab of chair-shaped rock. "They have joined because your vision is a good one, not because you've thrown the power of this seat at them."

Wrex pulled a rag from his belt pouch and wiped down his sikah before sliding it back into its scabbard. "The clans that join us are only half the message." He patted a hand over the thresher tooth blade. "Some clans will force me to use the other half. They believe me weak because I protect the weak." He sucked in a deep breath of the cool, dank air and squared his shoulders, declaring the debate ended. "We've brought in all the clans that will join without force or bribery. Unless I meet Uvenk's challenge, it'll spread until he seeks alliances with the larger clans."

"Civil war," she said, the words gruff but still spoken with a tone of understanding.

"Civil war," he agreed, but then shook his head. "I won't allow the krogan to tear themselves apart. Holding out an arm, he invited her to walk at his side down to where the tomkahs began roaring to life. He needed to speak with her about another matter and wanted to do so where he wouldn't be overheard.

"Have you heard rumors about an asari healer or miracle worker in the wastes?" he asked once they moved beyond the crowd of hangers-on that clustered around his throne at varying distances.

Mellir nodded once without looking at him. "I forbade the females to go looking for her and her miracle cure, but still, over the past month, two have disappeared. The other female chiefs have done the same, but have all lost one or two over the months since the rumors began." A sideways glance sliced across the side of his head. "Do you think there is a real asari behind the tales?"

Wrex ground his teeth as he nodded. He'd received more than one message from Shepard after missions to deal with killer asari. The fear in Shepard's eyes when she described what the ardat yakshi did to their victims … seeing Shepard that shaken had scared him more than any enemy. Shepard faced Reapers on foot. She didn't scare easily.

"Yes," he replied. "Ask if anyone has heard where this asari makes her lair. I'll tell the scouts to watch for packs of varren clustered around shelter." He stopped before climbing the last slope up to the tomkahs. "If this asari is real and what I think she is, she'll kill entire clans." He opened his mouth to issue an order, then turned it. Despite opinions to the contrary, Shepard's example had taught him diplomacy. "I'll double perimeter guards to keep males from leaving."

"The desperate will find a way, Wrex," Mellir said, barely more than a mumble behind her uzluk.

He nodded, and set out up the slope to the first tomkah and stuck his head in the open hatch. "Are we ready to go?" he called. When the bellows from inside came back affirmative, Wrex gave Mellir a final glance. "We can try to stop them." Turning his back on his counterpart, he heaved himself up into the truck. Time to take the fight to Gatatog before Uvenk brought the fight to him, and to Urdnot's females and pups.

Rockets peppered the tomkah's shields long before the line reached the Gatatog camp's outer perimeter. His blood singing a shrill battle song, his entire body humming with electricity in anticipation of the coming fight, he ordered the line to halt behind a bombed out factory.

"We go on foot from here," he called through his comm and popped the hatch. He swung out first, pausing to listen to the world around him. Gatatog's varren would come at them first, released from the perimeter in hopes of tearing them apart before they even closed to within gun range. Within seconds, he heard the subtle chuffs, snarls, and barks of the alphas keeping their pack in order as the trackers moved in.

Wrex spread his people out in a double line then took his position in the open, the bait that would pull the varren straight into the crossfire. His heart beat slow and steady as he waited. Best to take Gatatog's berserker packs out before they had to deal with weapons. At least Gatatog didn't deal with the Blood Pack, which meant no vorcha wielding flamethrowers. Ganar, Weyrloc, and Quash all had major ties to the Blood Pack, but so far, Uvenk believed allying with the merc organization to be beneath him.

The packs rounded the far side of the factory, ugly snouts punching at the air as if trying to beat it into submission, force it to betray their quarry's position. Then, grabbing hold of the scent, the alphas barked vicious commands and claws dug into concrete, coiled muscles launching over thirty missiles of flesh, blood, and teeth at them.

* * *

"Leave ten of the varren here," Wrex ordered as he swung down out of the tomkah, "and take the rest to Mellir for the female clans."

Barl laughed as he jumped down, stepping up behind Wrex's right side. "Stacking the bodies of their warriors at the entrance to the Gatatog male camp and leaving a pile of varren meat at the outer perimeter of their female camp … subtle, Wrex."

Wrex grunted and strode down into the camp. "The females and pups aren't part of the power struggle. Subtle won't give Urdnot control over a united Tuchanka that holds position and power amongst the other races." He climbed up to his throne but turned to look over the munitions range without sitting down. "It's time to take the next step."

"And that is?" Barl asked, stepping up next to Wrex's side.

"Time to dig Urdnot out from under the rubble, Barl. Rebuild this hole, bring the females and the pups into a secure camp, and then get everyone to work. In five cycles time, I want clans begging to join Urdnot's wealth."

After a moment, he nodded to himself, then turned to Barl. "Send messengers to all allied male and female clans. We'll meet at the central fire midday two days from now. Send a message to the shamen of all the clans as well. Same place and time in three days."

**1820 CE Clan Urdnot Central Audience Chamber (5 years later)**

Mellir strode up to the heater set upon the hearth before Wrex's throne. Without waiting for an invitation, the female clan chief settled on the seat to Wrex's left and held her hands out to the heat. "It's a cold night." She looked out over the large tunnel that had once housed the munitions range, but had been transformed into the new female camp: rows of neat, single-storey dwellings along the raised sides, common and work areas down the corridor between. "The pups and females are glad for the warmth."

Wrex nodded, but didn't look away from the flickering element, willing to let the female fill the silence. At the end of a long day of negotiations that amounted to Gatatog Uvenk making demands that Wrex shot down one after the other, he hoped the female clan chief had come with something other than demands.

"One of the young females, Bakara, got out of the camp today." Mellir let out a long, grumbling sigh. "Her first was stillborn." Pushing herself out of her chair, the chief walked to the edge of the dais and looked out over the low balcony wall.

Wrex harrumphed, covering the sudden surge of blood through his veins. Bakara. At last. He'd made no inquiries and avoided looking for her, afraid to interfere with her development into the leader and inspiration he'd known. "When did she pass the guards?" he asked, already seeing the direction his morning would take. Part of him insisted that he go out searching for her immediately, but too many things hunted in the black Tuchankan night. He'd end up getting half his krantt killed without finding her. Besides, despite her youth, she was still Urdnot Bakara. She'd survived becoming a shaman, she'd live through a night alone in the wastes.

"Just after sundown." Mellir turned to face him. "Thank you, Wrex. Hers is a hard loss if we must bear it. She has a passion for history, culture, and ritual. I'd hoped to groom her to take my place one day." After a moment, she returned to her seat. "How did negotiations go with Uvenk? Are you allowing any concessions to his pride?"

Wrex grunted. "Pride." He snorted, a thick glob of phlegm and derision splashing on the floor in front of him. "He knows his females are ready to join without him, and that Urdnot holds enough wealth and power to wipe his clan off the planet any time we want." Watching her from the corner of one eye, he waited for her inevitable rebuke. Fact was, he'd granted Uvenk sufficient concessions to allow the leader to join forces without appearing weak to his clan. But, Wrex's days became more and more tedious, administrative tasks far outweighing his opportunities to shoot things, and he needed to grasp at the small pleasures—like tormenting Mellir—where he could.

The female clan chief nodded. "You did well, Wrex. We could use a good, bloody war to suck up all the credits you've set aside for the groundwater and soil reclamation equipment." Inscrutable gold eyes stared into his, her uzluk hiding her expression, but his intuition read a grin.

Wrex upended his jug of ryncol, pouring a half litre of it down his throat before he passed it her way. "The klixen hunters report that the armour made from the harvester leather and klixen shell is working well," he said, changing the subject in an attempt to turn those too observant eyes elsewhere.

Mellir took a long swallow and passed the jug back. "We could tell, the number of carcases has almost doubled in the last few days." Her eyes narrowed as she stared into the fire. "The klixen are a lucrative resource, but at the rate we're bringing them and the harvesters down, a limited one. If we want to keep bringing in that wealth, we need to start planning, Wrex."

Nodding, he drank, his eyes staring unseeing into the heater. Fire glands from the klixen and the thresher venom had brought in credits to turn the Urdnot camp into a small city. They'd cleaned up and recycled the rubble, repaired the structure of the missile silo, and built proper dwellings inside that shell. They'd created a clean, safe environment that projected the image he wanted the council to associate with the new Tuchanka, but some of the old guard grumbled about life becoming too easy, too safe and comfortable. They stirred up enough opposition to tangle his guts and leave him sleepless too far into the night.

He'd been able to point to klixen, harvester, and thresher hunting as true, dangerous, krogan occupations, using them as a pressure release valve when the rumbles of dissent began over working at construction and manufacturing. If he turned hunting into farming, he might take enough of the perceived danger out of the work to bring about real opposition to his entire plan.

"Klixen and harvesters live on other worlds," he said, remembering the fight through the green, chlorine fog of Tarith. That had been a good day. "They're a danger to settlement." A crooked, mean-spirited grin showed his teeth. "I've been thinking about hiring a Blood Pack transport and sending the warriors looking for bloodier sport out to round them up."

Mellir's eyes crinkled at the corners, definitely a smile that time. "Kill most, bring back some breeding stock." She nodded and stretched out a hand for the ryncol, taking a long drink before she passed it back. "In time, we'll be able to afford a couple of transports, and go after bigger game, clear out threshers, and places where the varren population is out of control." A rough chuckle rumbled between them, putting out more warmth than the heater. "The krogan as galactic exterminators."

Silence dropped and she narrowed her eyes, her pleased humor dissolving into a weighted stare. "Where did all this come from, Urdnot Wrex? A handful of cycles ago, the brash young idiot turned into a leader. Why? How?"

Letting out a loud bark of a breath, Wrex shook his head. "I saw the future."

**The Next Morning:**

Wrex halted his krantt a hundred metres back from where the runaway female sat at the top of a long flight of stairs overlooking one of the best preserved ruins. He jabbed a thumb toward the large pack of varren stalking her from the far end, where the closed in complex tumbled brokenly into the sand of the wastes. "Go take care of the varren. We could use the extra meat."

"Urdnot Bakara," Wrex called, striding along the broken mosaic tiles of the ancient temple complex's boulevard, "is this the best way to help your clan or yourself?"

The young female looked up at him, her face bare, eyes wide, mouth open and gasping with a grief that stabbed him straight in the gut.

Rage roared in, chasing hot on the heels of pain and grief. Mellir allowed him to keep a wide distance between himself and the true suffering the genophage inflicted on his people. Without that distance, he suspected he would become like Jarrod, calling for constant war against the turians and salarians, if for different reasons. No, in order to keep a calm mind, to plan for cooperation rather than revenge, he needed to keep his distance from the keening mothers and tiny, dead bodies.

Bakara snatched for her uzluk, but he waved a dismissive hand and shook his head.

"I'm not going to become overwhelmed with lust at the sight of your uncovered head, and I'd rather be able to see your face when I speak to you." And in truth, he wanted to look at her, to see her before three hundred years of care and wisdom wore down the sharp edges. Her crest still hadn't closed completely, so she must be only a handful of cycles that side of the female rite of passage. Solid and strong-looking, she was everything a krogan female should be. No doubt the list of males vying to be her first had been long and bloodied.

He mounted the stairs, hesitating halfway up. Stabbing his chin toward the dais on her other side, he asked, "Can I sit?"

Her clear, amber eyes stared into his for a moment before she nodded. "I didn't come out here to die," she said, her voice nearly as deep and rich as the one in his memory. It felt like the sun on his hump, warm and comforting. The same piercing stare he recalled followed him as he sat, keeping a metre or so between them. She shook her head and let out a sigh that sounded as if it originated the other side of a century of suffering. "I came out here to find reasons to live."

When she turned her head to look down the long open central space, he followed suit. Plants grew here and there, from hardly little broad-leafed weeds stabbing out through cracks in the stone to massive vines climbing the walls of the gikgah. A small stream cut its way through the compound, its banks thick with green. "A good place to look for those."

She turned to answer him with a sharp smile and eyes suddenly gleaming with fire. "This place breathes hope and life. It feels as though even the ground beneath it defies Tuchanka's death and destruction." The smile faded. It's waning pulled his hand up as if he could somehow hold it in place, not wanting to lose the first smile he'd ever seen on a female's face. Then she turned away, stealing it completely. "Why don't we live here?" she asked.

When he merely shrugged, her smile returned, sending his hearts thumping hard and fast. "Mellir says you're a mutant. She says that makes you the krogan's best hope to avoid extinction." Bakara stood and walked down a few steps. "But this place reminds me that the krogan were once great." She pointed at a shattered tower beyond the compound's walls. "That destruction exists because we had scientists capable of creating the technology that destroyed us." She turned to look Wrex in the eye, her smile becoming something sly. "I believe that makes you a throwback more than a mutant."

High-blooded and kill-sated laughter cut her off as his warriors returned, carcasses slung over their shoulders.

"Put your uzluk back on," Wrex said, stepping in front of her. "And yes, Urdnot Bakara, we will change what the krogan have become and restore our planet." He answered her smile with a smirk. "Just not today."


	4. Chapter Four - Faces so very lost to time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had to all be some sort of dying flashback. One eyebrow migrated toward his hairline. People did claim that their life flashed before their eyes in the moments prior to death. He just hadn't expected it to be so vivid … or move so slowly. The phrase was 'flash before their eyes' after all, not crawl.

 

"Jack?" A sound very like the rumble of chair rollers on corrugated plastic followed his name. Footsteps followed the rolling chair, approaching him from behind. "Jack? You still with me, son?"

Darkness. Fire. Pain. A slow, numbing chill crept through his flesh, spreading out from the slowing blood in his veins.

A heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder, tearing Jack's dimming stare from the brilliant fires that blossomed in the black beyond the sterile platform. A turian face, blurred but familiar, blocked his view of the end. He slapped the hand away. He'd die gazing down at Earth. After all, his entire life had been spent championing the people she'd nurtured.

"Don't touch me, Vakari—." He bit down on the word, the face before him not turian, but human and familiar. Confusion burned through him, daggers of sunlight and bright blue skies stabbing into his eyes to plant the concerned frown of a figure from a long forgotten life into his brain. "Bill?" He stumbled, catching himself with a hand against the cold glass.

Damn, it was cold. He could feel the chill against his palm. Looking beyond his hand, he stared at the reflection in the glass; a much younger version of himself stared back. Then the other man moved, drawing his attention from his foppish hair style and trendy suit to the formidable form of Bill Acker, CEO Interplanetary Expeditions, Inc.

**2142 CE - Interplanetary Expeditions Inc., New Toronto/Buffalo District, Eastern North American Metropolis**

The balding man swiped his hands down the lapels of his business suit and slid his foot back a step. "Jack? Are you all right?" He laughed, nervous and shrill, a sound that always drilled straight through Jack's temples. How had the man risen to a position of such power when he laughed like a manic hyena? "I know that the offer is a big step, but not so big that it should throw you into a fugue state." The laugh died, replaced by a frown of real affection and concern.

Jack's turn to step back, covering the disorientation with a slow, heavily controlled and modulated chuckle. "I'm fine, Bill, just had a hell of a day." Turning, he looked out the window, recognizing the view in a dim and misty way. Damn, it must have been forty years since he last stood in that office, staring out over the city. How? He spun a slow circle, taking in the office and imposing but kindly figure of his first boss and mentor.

It had to all be some sort of dying flashback. One eyebrow migrated toward his hairline. People did claim that their life flashed before their eyes in the moments prior to death. He just hadn't expected it to be so vivid … or move so slowly. The phrase was 'flash before their eyes' after all, not crawl.

"Are Pat and the girls okay?" Bill asked, returning to the large, comfortable chair behind his desk. He'd had it custom made to cradle his large, comfortable bulk. Jack couldn't remember ever knowing a man more kind or generous … and generous in every way.

_Jack Harper._

An unbidden smile worked its way across Jack's face. It felt strange to be sure, but also unbelievably good to find himself standing in Jack Harper's shoes once more. He glanced down, the smile breaking into a sardonic sort of grin at the canvas toes of his black Converse All-Stars sticking out from beneath the blade-edged creases of his blue, pin-striped trousers.

"Pat and the girls?" he asked, the words tumbling slowly out through lips gone numb, the smile drifting away. God, Jack's family. His family. Looking up, he took a step toward one of the chairs, bracing a hand against its back. "Yeah, they're fine," he said, wincing a little at the absent way he said it. He tried to conjure faces to go with the words, but they'd been gone so long. Gone since the first wave of Hierarchy forces swept the colony. One stray bomb and—

"Sit down." Bill's face creased into a heavy frown. "Are you sure you're feeling well?" He shook his head and leaned forward, his forearms pressed to his desk blotter. "You don't need to answer me about Mars today. Go home, talk to Pat and the girls about it. Rest up, and come back tomorrow and let me know."

Mars. Damn, he'd forgotten about that as well. Jack Harper's pre-Cerberus life had become the stuff of myth and guesswork as Cerberus and the Illusive Man emerged, even to him. He looked up, staring into Bill's eyes. Had he stumbled into the day Bill had asked him to head up the new division on Mars? He'd turned it down, stayed with the company on Earth and built up his own interests until the position on Shanxi opened. His wife and daughters had clearly rejected the idea of living under Mars's dome in prefab shelters.

Bill's stare darkened toward serious concern. Damn, he needed to say something, anything. The deal … he needed to work the deal. That would alleviate Bill's worries.

"I'd want to build out away from the colony," he said, words and plans appearing in his mind even as he spoke. "I don't mind using part of my trust, and I imagine Ben will want to be involved, but if we're going to build an R&D department on Mars, I want to move it south, away from the nationalist settlements." He paused, tilting into a whimsical sort of shrug, just throwing the idea out there. "Close to the pole, maybe. The Deseado Crater."

Bill grinned and leaned back, hooking his thumbs into his jacket pockets. "It sounds like you're vying for a partnership." His chin tilted up, his substantial jowl jutting out in what looked a lot like pride rather than any real concern. "Not trying to push me out, are you?"

Jack laughed, settling into the chair, the old life fitting more comfortably than he would have imagined. "Wouldn't dream of it." He filled his lungs with air conditioned, planetside air. "Partnership, however … that has occurred to me. We could make Mars my baby. In five years, the stars wouldn't be the limit any longer."

Chuckling that manic hyena chuckle of his, Bill pushed himself up and walked around the desk. "Talk to your family, first. Make sure they'll be able to live on Mars." Leaning back against the desk, he braced his hands against the edge to his either side, his gaze friendly, but frank as he looked down. "It's not an easy landscape for families, and if you want to build away from what passes for civilization, it'll be harder still." He held out his hand. "If they agree, we'll talk about the partnership and your plans."

Jack stood and straightened his suit before gripping the other man's hand. "You have a deal."

Bill nodded toward the door. "Now, go home, spend some time with your ladies, and rest up. You look like you've been spat out of the wrong end of a donkey."

A needle-thin shard of ice pierced Jack's chest, aimed straight at his heart. Go home? He hadn't had a home to go to in a very long time. He pressed a starched smile onto his face and nodded. "That's disgusting, Bill. See you tomorrow morning." The words came out, sounding strange and robotic, but no more robotic than his legs felt as he turned and walked out the office door.

Luckily, he made it to the elevator before stalling. What the hell was going on? Moments before, he'd been dying on the Citadel. Was it all a dying dream? Did he dare go out to the farm … dare to walk in that door and see those faces, forgotten out of necessity decades ago? His hand reached out, punching the controls for the executive parking level.

But what if this was it? If this was reality, what was everything else: Shanxi; the Reapers; Cerberus; Shepard; his entire life that ended on the platform on the Citadel?

That last, agonizing day on Shanxi—the day before he grabbed Ben and Eva, and headed for the Alliance headquarters—he'd stood over those three, hastily dug graves and made a single promise. Had he kept it or had that simple oath gotten lost in the details? Had he ever stopped to wonder what Patricia would have to say about the Illusive Man?

No. He never had. He'd left Jack Harper and his 'ladies' on that Shanxi hillside.

The elevator door opened, fresh air and the smell of hot pavement wafting into the small carriage. Closing his eyes, Jack drew in a long breath. Dear God, June on Earth, rich with the green scent of leaves too new to have lost their sheen … the complex honey, evergreen, and perfume scents from the company gardens … . It had to be real. It was all too vivid to be memory or imagination.

He stepped out into the sun, the rays heating his hair and the shoulders of his suit almost immediately. If everything around him was real, what did it all mean? A second chance? A head start on the work? His shoes moved over the stone walkway through the garden, rubber soles silent until he stepped into the parking lot where they made soft, cricket chirping sounds on the tacky pavement.

God was Patricia's province, he'd never believed in a power higher than humanity's ability to achieve anything … to realize its manifest destiny. Perhaps his displacement owed itself to that greater cause.

Stopping beside his car, he stared down at the sports car's sleek, black lines, a slow smile creeping back across his face. He really loved that car. Patricia refused to ride in it, calling it a death trap. Digging into his pocket, he found the keys and hit the control to open the top. As he settled into the seat, he took a deep breath. The scent of leather seats mingled with turtle wax and the sandalwood from the air freshener burrowed into his brain, sparking a small flood of memories: his father giving him the car after high school, and his mother hating it even more than Patricia did.

The car started with a touch, the engine roaring to life exactly two decibels lower than the legal noise pollution level. The sly grin making itself at home, he lifted off, roaring up into the traffic lanes that led out of the city.

A few kilometres per hour—seventy or so—over the speed limit, Jack zipped through traffic, heading north toward the edge of the massive city and home. Marvin and Juliette Harper had died in an accident while Jack was in university, leaving him their estate and a very comfortable fortune. He'd kept the estate, invested the fortune, and went back to university and then to work. His father had raised him to cherish a specific set of values, ones that had never let him down.

' _A man works for what he wants, Jack. He works to make sure he takes care of his people. He works to ensure his family's comfort and happiness. And if he does, he'll end every day with a sense of accomplishment and be able to sleep soundly.'_

The estate he kept for his family. Driving more than an hour into the city morning and night allowed his wife her gardens and his girls their ponies. It allowed all four of them a much needed peace in a busy and overcrowded world: picnics and bar-b-qs and afternoons by the lake. They all missed it very much when they moved to Shanxi.

A heavy frown settled over his face. They'd miss it all that much worse on Mars. Of course, if his agreement with Bill turned into a partnership, he'd be able to build them a home that brought a small piece of Earth with them. In seven or eight years, if the life that existed inside his head hadn't just been an illusion—if everything waited where he remembered—they could live anywhere they wanted.

Jack's breath hitched, sticking in his throat as the car descended toward the estate, turning to land on the white gravel of the driveway. Built in the early 1900's, the wattle and daub structure sprawled over nearly a half acre of the 160 acre parcel, each generation adding to it in some way. His father's obsession with vintage road vehicles had led to the much expanded garage. Perhaps Jack would finally sell the collection if they moved offworld. No point in them sitting there, rotting.

The front door opened even as his sports car settled to earth. For a single, breathless moment, no one appeared in the dark portal, and he wondered if perhaps he'd been sent to some sort of purgatory where his wife's cold, ancient god devoted itself to dangling everything he'd lost just out of his reach.

Then two bright faces appeared, their golden heads catching the sun, braids glinting. "Daddy!" Excited cries carried even over the noise of the car. Jack stared, captivated as his mind struggled to reconcile his memory of dead eighteen-year-old women with the bundles of giggling energy that raced toward him.

"Did you come home early just to sit in your car?" a teasing voice called from the front door. The smile … her smile … . For the first time in thirty years Jack Harper's eyes burned with threatened tears. If he'd been sent to hell, it was one cruel beyond imagining. Patricia cocked her head and closed her eyes. "I don't hear some terrible racket on the radio." Her gaze returned to his, her smile slowly fading. "Jack? You okay, hun?"

He forced a smile, his hand hesitating over the control to open the top. The girls bounced outside, so very alike unless one knew that Megan's eyes leaned more to olive than pine, and Rachel's right eyebrow bore a scar from a tumble off her pony earlier in the year. If he opened the car and they wrapped their arms around his neck, and he closed his eyes to breathe them in … then he found himself back on the Citadel ….

_If it's going to shatter, let it shatter now._

A thought whispered through the maelstrom. What if he'd died? That scenario presented the most obvious and believable solution. He'd died, and all of this amounted to what came after. Had he earned a boon that massive?

"Jack?" The fear creeping into Patricia's voice pulled him back. If he stayed in the car any longer, she'd really start to worry, and she possessed far too vivid an imagination for him to allow that juggernaut to gain any speed. He touched the control and turned to meet the eager, speed-talking, giggling embrace of his twins.

Their whip-thin arms tangled around his neck, pink cheeks pressed to his. Slipping his arms around their backs, he held them tight against his chest. A soft gasp greeted the familiar forgotten beat of their hearts, quick and merry. His eyelids drifted closed as he pressed a kiss to each soft, cool cheek, and the scent of strawberries and wood shavings, grass and horses enveloped him. The earlier shard of ice thawed into a splinter of something a great deal warmer and more painful. When he breathed his daughters in deep, it pricked his heart, goading the withered organ into a strong, solid beat, and once again, tears burned his eyes.

_His girls._

"Daddy," Megan said, wriggling as her giggles erupted into squeals, "you're squeezing me too tight."

"What? I'm not squeezing tight enough?" He squeezed tighter and brushed his cheek against hers, turning her squeals into laughter. Turning to Rachel, he pulled back a little, meeting her lovely, emerald eyes with a serious frown. "What about you? Not tight enough?"

She stared into his eyes, truly serious. Kissing him on the cheek, she lifted a hand to press against his chin. "Why are you sad, Daddy?"

Still holding a girl in each arm, he stood, settling one on each hip. "I'm not sad, starshine. Mr. Acker just made me a big offer today, and I need to talk to you two and Mommy about it."

"I guess we'd better make some lemonade and sandwiches, then get to talking about it, hadn't we?" Patricia asked, stepping around the front of the car. She leaned in, her lips soft and loving despite the chaste kiss she pressed against his mouth, her scent an adult version of their daughters'. His heart stirred in his chest once more, a rustle rather than a beat, but more than he'd felt in a half-century.

"That sounds good," he replied when she pulled back and relieved him of Rachel's weight. His arm free, he closed up the car, then quick-stepped up behind his wife, wrapping that arm around her waist. Sandwiches and lemonade had never sounded better.

If he'd been sent back or given a second chance to make sure that humanity came out on top of the war, the power and knowledge of the Reapers harnessed to uplift humanity beyond their wildest aspirations, he'd use it to his full advantage. He'd see it done. But the work wasn't his only second chance, and he intended to make the most of the gift in his arms as well.

* * *

"Mmmm, it's stifling in here, Jack." He heard the patio door roll open a couple of metres behind the couch. "A fire? You trying to cook yourself?" Her footsteps padded softly on the thick carpet as she approached, circling the end of the couch. "You've been so quiet tonight." Patricia curled one leg under her as she sat on the butter-soft leather, facing him. She leaned in, her elbow on the back, her fingertips brushing the hair around his ear. "What's weighing so heavily on your mind, hun?"

Jack closed his eyes, the light from the fireplace still dancing on the inside of his eyelids, and slipped sideways to lean into her touch. "What does your Bible say about second chances?" he asked, choking a little on the hesitant whisper. Telling her about his experience, about his other life, might scare her, or leave her convinced that he was insane, but he needed to talk to someone about it. The entire thing dwelt too far outside his understanding of science, life, and the universe.

She shifted so that her arm cradled him against her side. "He sacrificed His son to give everyone a second chance, so I'd have to say God is all about granting them." The gentle pressure of her brow rested against his temple, and for a second he felt something stir . "And third chances. Why? Does this have something to do with Bill's job offer?"

Jack took his wife's hand, lacing their fingers together, his thumb brushing the web between her thumb and first finger. "Sort of. Something very strange and very real has happened to me, and even though you'll probably think me mad, I want to tell you about it." He paused, frowning for a moment as he tried to remember the last time he'd consulted with someone about anything. He asked for intel, estimations, and requirements then gave orders.

"Tell me," she said, her thumb caressing the creases from his brow. "It never hurts to get a second opinion, even if that opinion decides that you're completely insane." She chuckled, a warm, throaty sound that never failed to make him smile, the cool tip of her nose 'bunny kissing' his cheekbone. Twenty five years they'd been together when that bomb fell—a true partnership even though she never stepped inside his office.

People gossiped and wondered about his private life as the Illusive Man, pairing him with a wide variety of women and aliens: most favoured asari and for good reason. He entertained a long line of women, and hired a team of agents to do nothing but plant proof, wipe memories, and leave the right people believing the image he wished to portray. If a single one of them had met Patricia, they would have known that he could never replace her, even had he wished to.

No, after she died, his life was the work. What he learned from the incident with the Arca Monolith couldn't be forgotten, nor could it be ignored. Preparing for the Reapers certainly hadn't left time for dalliances. Still, it had provided him with a small amount of pleasure to know that everyone from the tabloids to the Shadow Broker believed the fiction. By 2185, even if someone had shown the galaxy video proof of his real life, they would have never believed it.

"Tell me, Jack. I know you, and the level of insanity you'll allow yourself. If this has you tied in a knot this tight, you know I'll believe you." She curled in against his side, her heat along his ribs and thigh, her arms draped over his shoulder and stomach, loose and still.

"I don't know whether it was a dream or vision, or if this is the fantasy, but I experienced an entirely different life, Patricia." It took more than three hours to lay that other life out before her. She remained silent but for a couple of questions, and although she stretched to ease cramped muscles, she never moved away from him. In fact, if anything, she moved closer.

When he finished with his death on that lonely platform, his purpose unfulfilled, she took a long, shuddering breath in and pushed away from him. "This calls for a quick bathroom break and large glasses of lemonade," she said, a clipped pronouncement as she stood and stretched. She looked down and held out a hand, pulling him up. "I've been sitting there with my legs and eyes crossed for a half hour, so you get the drinks while I pee."

Jack laughed and gave her a gentle push. "Go then, and quickly." He watched her scoot for the hallway, her tanned arms and legs dark against the light yellow of her shorts and t-shirt, and smiled as he shook his head. The bittersweet splinter worked its way deeper between his ribs. It pricked his heart again, the dead organ taking two entire beats before stilling in his chest once more.

He filled two tall glasses with ice, pouring the lemonade absently as he wondered how his wife was reacting to hearing about another life where she and the girls died on a distant planet.

"I think you've been given an extraordinary gift, Jack." Her voice washed over him like warm water, and he closed his eyes, willing her to speak again. Instead, her hands slipped around him from behind. "We'll move to Mars. You, Ben, and Eva will search out those ruins, and you'll use this vision God sent you to build a future where children don't die to alien bombs or live in fear of the monsters moving out there in the dark."

He turned in her arms and reached up to cradle her face in his hands. Serious, loving green eyes stared into his, and his heart gave an experimental beat then another. "Life on Mars won't be easy," he said, knowing he didn't need to.

"Some things are worth a sacrifice or two." A bright, intense smile illuminated her beauty. "God sent you this vision for a reason, Jack. He's seen into your heart and your mind, and He's named you worthy to take his people forth into the next promised land." Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him, a kiss full of ardor and joyous passion.

As he kissed his wife for the first time in decades, Jack Harper's heart began to beat again, blood surging through his veins full of a fire he'd forgotten along with everything else. Patricia, as always, had seen straight through to the heart of it. He'd believed himself humanity's champion, and God-sent or not, he'd use every scrap of knowledge inside his head to make sure that humanity came out on top.

* * *

A-N: Sooo many head canons at work here for our dear Jack Harper ... but those HCs are built from the wikis and game/codex info.

So, yes, Wrex's 300 years will still be covered, but I didn't want to leave everyone else hanging until 24-30 chapters of Wrex had gone by, so we'll be jumping back and forth in time. Everyone is within their own lifetime/timeframe, so it shouldn't get muddled. :D

Thanks so much for reading and your support. I truly appreciated it.


	5. Chapter Five - Beneath the Martian Soil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blocky shapes appeared at the very edge of the scanner's range, indistinct but looking unnaturally-occurring enough to send Jack's heart pounding into overdrive. Damn, it might just be true! And none of it looked as though it was buried as deep as he'd feared. Tingling fingers guided the vehicle closer to the formations. Then, as the shapes solidified into the very forms he'd been hoping to find, a wave of dizziness crashed over him, leaving him breathless and light-headed.

**August 14, 2142 CE (Six weeks later) - The Deseado Crater, Mars**

"We've always known you were completely crazy, Jack," Ben Hislop said, his voice thick with long-familiar teasing as he called over the rumble of the APC. "But this little expedition is nuts, even for you." Jack's oldest friend grinned, all brilliant teeth and rakish hair flips as he turned to Eva Core in the back seat. "Back me up here."

Jack choked back a dry, prickly laugh. That 'little expedition' had cost him nearly two hundred and fifty million of his inheritance. He glanced over his shoulder, biting back a growing foul temper formed of nervous energy, Ben's constant nattering, and six hours of breathing in the APC's odd odour: a combination of Eva's perfume, Ben's feet—shoes had always strangled his feet on long 'car rides', leather, rubber, and hot electronics. Some of his pique bled away as he met his childhood friend's eyes and asked, "No mocking to add, Eva?"

The blonde shook her head, her ponytail flicking with the motion. "Nope." She shrugged, one corner of her mouth pulling back into a crooked grin. "If we get there and you run the scans only to find absolutely nothing, I'll call my people back home to get loan documents ready to go." The grin twisted a little closer to a sneer, Eva's control over her teasing beginning to crack. "You'll be needing the cash, and I'm prepared to offer a competitive interest rate."

That time Jack laughed out loud. "Trust me, what we find is going to blow your minds." He winced a little at the slang. Falling back into his younger life had brought a lot of bad habits along with it. However, it had also brought back a freedom that he'd forgotten. As the Illusive Man, he fiercely regimented his days. His schedule and the work governed every moment. Elevating humanity didn't allow for evenings lounging by the pool or laughing with friends.

"Oh, that's cold, Eva," Ben said, his infectious laugh bubbling under the words, a spring running beneath rock. He turned in his seat to watch the hologram of the view outside the armoured vehicle, his eyes sparkling with a mischief that had gotten Jack through the hardest times of his life. "Don't worry, Jack, I'll beat her interest rate by at least two points."

Jack shook his head, spreading a thick layer of indignation over his humour. "When I reveal the find of a lifetime, you can both buy in with a third of my investment and an additional … " He tossed a wicked grin across at his best friend. "... twenty percent dividend."

"Oh, look out." Eva chuckled. "Jack's getting cocky, Ben." She leaned forward between the seats. "You know that never bodes well for your wallet."

Ben nodded, trying to look downtrodden and put upon. "Nor yours. He's always been impervious to that whole brilliant smile, batting eyelashes, hair flip thing you do."

"That's because, unlike you …."

Jack let the rest of their back and forth pass him by, their bickering as familiar as his own heartbeat after decades of friendship. Instead, he focused on the scans and holographic view of the terrain. They were close to the most spectacular parts of the find, and he needed to pay attention to his work. Driving over the crater's surface without the massive structure of the Alliance base looming over him proved more disorienting than he would have thought. That structure formed a beacon that allowed people to ignore the surrounding area as they approached, the mystery of what hid inside pulling with a gravity that didn't allow for paying attention to rock formations.

A tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind, a sliver of doubt that burned like dry ice. He hadn't allowed it to work its way forward in the weeks since he'd awoken in Bill Acker's office; planning kept him occupied. Still, despite the arrangements for their expedition, negotiating his partnership, and bringing Ben and Eva on board, the doubt remained: had he just dreamed it all? Was any of it real?

Warmth sparked to melt away the doubt. Even if it had all been a dream, it had allowed him time to reacquaint with his children and wife. Well, perhaps it amounted to appreciation rather than reacquaintance, since if the other life proved to be a dream, he'd never lost them at all. Having pulled his giggling, bubble-covered twins from baths to wrap them in towels and then pyjamas … having tucked them in bed, one held under each arm, the scent of them sweet and warm as he breathed them in and read them stories … no, he wouldn't go back to that other life. He only hoped that his vision proved true so he could find a way to spend the same time with his grandchildren in thirty years time.

Of course, if it wasn't true, the Reapers weren't either. Odd, but while he doubted so much of the vision, he never doubted the existence of the Reapers. Something deep and ancient—some trace of ancestors older than civilization—confirmed their existence. That same brazier burned fierce and hot, insisting that Patricia's assertions veered very close to true. Not the God part, but the warning, definitely.

Three small beeps from the ground penetrating scan yanked Jack's attention back where it belonged, and the smile died. Another annoying limb he needed to lop off: distracted daydreaming.

"We've got a sandstorm coming in," Ben reported, his fingers moving over the console in front of him. His tone said he considered it more a dare to face down rather than a threat to be avoided. Typical. "It's just over ninety minutes out, and ramping up to be a doozy." Dark brown eyes cut a glance across the cab. "We just about there? Think we could ride out the static-lightning strikes of a big sandstorm in this thing?"

"We're there, and no, I don't, nor do I want to find out if we can." Jack changed the vid screen over so that the scan filled the front of the APC's cab, and then shifted the vehicle into low gear, letting it crawl forward over the ground.

Blocky shapes appeared at the very edge of the scanner's range, indistinct but looking unnaturally-occurring enough to send Jack's heart pounding into overdrive. Damn, it might just be true! And none of it looked as though it was buried as deep as he'd feared. Tingling fingers guided the vehicle closer to the formations. Then, as the shapes solidified into the very forms he'd been hoping to find, a wave of dizziness crashed over him, leaving him breathless and light-headed.

It was all there! He wished Patricia sat by his side, so she could witness her faith in him proven as the evidence appeared. Even when his confidence in the vision lagged over the weeks, hers remained unshakeable. In fact, she'd started keeping written notes of everything he recalled, so that the details wouldn't get lost to time.

"Holy shit, Jack." Ben's hands flew up to the interface, highlighting the closest formation and then zooming in on it. Jaw hanging, the man who carried around fifteen comebacks for everything just stared. After a full thirty seconds, his mouth snapped shut. "Is that a ship?" He turned from the scan to Jack and then back again so quickly and so many times, that Jack worried that he'd throw his neck out. "It's not human, at least not current gen."

Jack grinned and nodded. "Yes, it's a ship, and no, it's not human. It belonged to the Prothean Empire." He moved the vehicle until it was centered over the majority of the ruins, then parked it. "Exactly as I remember," he whispered, the words meant for himself rather than the other two. Excitement and terror started a shoving match that left his hands trembling as he turned to look back at Eva. Eyebrows rising as he met the pale grey-blue of her stare, he asked, "So?"

"Two ships?" she asked without answering him or looking away from the scan image. She slid forward to kneel on the floor between the front seats, her head cocked as she studied the screen. "That one is huge. Is that a docking structure?" Despite asking, Jack knew she wasn't looking for answers, just cataloguing everything and filing it away. Eva reached up to circle the less defined area of the map with a pointed finger. "Buildings?" She squinted, shoving Ben aside to magnify the main complex. "What is this?" she asked, pointing to the odd shape at the center. "There's something really dense at the center."

"That's the base's central computer core." Jack grinned and cocked an eyebrow in answer to her dubious glare. "In other words, the motherlode." He zoomed back out. "What we'll find in the engine rooms of those ships will change humanity's path forever." As he said the words, everything that stemmed from the reality of the objects on that scan crashed down on his shoulders like the proverbial ton of bricks. "What we'll find on that computer is our salvation and our curse."

So much awaited them on the other side of opening up the relay … on the other side of creating ships that could jump all those light years to meet the other races. Colonization, batarians, war … humanity faced a brutal four decades of upheaval and expansion culminating with the Collectors and Reapers. The harvest awaited, and as much work as he'd done to bring the three of them to that spot, an infinite and seemingly insurmountable amount of work lie ahead. He couldn't just follow the path of that other life: he needed to do better.

Fear pressed in, adding to the weight of the responsibilities and work, but after a couple of deep breaths, he shoved it off. He'd dealt with the Reapers once, and he could do it again, smarter. He didn't make the same mistakes twice.

_So, all new ones, then?_

"Jack?" Eva gave his shoulder a little shove. "You still with us, or has that great big brain taken off, making plans at the speed of light?" She stared at him, her face trying to show concern and curiosity at the same time.

Shooting her a quick smile, he tried to alleviate the concern puckering the skin between her eyebrows. "I'm fine, just … yeah … planning." He brought up a rough overlay that he'd made up from memory. "We need to build the complex first to mask the dig site when we begin to excavate. We won't be able to keep this place a secret forever, but I'd like to keep government off our back for as long as possible."

Ben nodded, but his gaze remained fixed on the screen. "Definitely. The more we can develop and patent before they stick their noses in, the better."

Jack nodded, but countered it with a derisive sort of grumble. "More than just patents. We let the governments out there to stumble around the galaxy, we'll be at war within the decade over some avoidable misunderstanding. First contact needs a deft hand, not their hamfists."

"Worker loyalty is going to have to be absolute," Eva said, pushing ahead as if they hadn't been editorializing. She leaned back in her seat, her eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, and fingertips pressed to her lips in her deep thinking pose. After a moment, she met Jack's eyes again. "On-site housing, confidentiality bonuses, and we'll pull workers in from your dad's company, Jack." Her lips pressed thin as she huffed, blowing a caustic breath out her nose. "My father was far too much of a bastard to have earned any loyalty from his people, and Ben's reputation … well, your company is pretty much our only viable option."

Ben leaped around in his seat. "What are you talking about, my reputation?"

Eva smiled, but kindly. "You're the playboy rogue son of a great man, Ben. That won't bring in people we can trust with the security and secrecy of this find." She caressed his cheek, the touch earning her a rare, genuine smile. "Don't worry, we still love you." After a second, she pulled back and took a deep breath. "Okay, let's get this mapped and get the hell back to civilization before that sandstorm hits."

Jack reached back to squeeze her hand, her brilliance stealing all his words. Their trio had just worked from the moment they met on his first day of private school. Jack provided the brains, Ben the humour and risk-taking, and Eva … despite her prickly facade and razor-keen mind, Eva provided the much-needed heart. Patricia joked that she never had to worry about Jack having an affair, because she was already the other woman … that he'd married his friends at the tender age of eight.

"Thanks for bringing us in on your madness," Ben said, turning back to his console. He stared up at the glowing image for long seconds, scarcely seeming to breathe. "God, the implications of this …." He spun to stare at Jack then Eva and back. "Time travel or a vision … aliens … humans out amongst them like it's normal and right to be there ... Jesus." He raked both hands through his hair. "I'm not sure whether to laugh or start screaming."

Eva let out a long sigh, then made a face, pulling one side of her mouth back in exaggerated contemplation. "Well, if you choose screaming, could you give us a heads up, so we can cover our ears?"

Ben leaned between the seats, intense and stiff. "You telling me that all of this isn't short circuiting your brain, a little?"

A chuckle and a careless flip of Eva's ponytail answered him. "Of course it is, but I can either sit here, staring at Jack and gasping like a bloating fish while I wonder how any of this is possible, or I can start the work that will get us here and digging all this amazing crap up." She patted his cheek, hard enough that Jack winced at the sound. "So get to work. You can bloat and gasp once we're back under a dome."

Ben's grumble managed to sound both amused and petulant, but he turned back around and started recording the images at varying resolutions and magnifications. "I can't wait to get down there and actually walk through those ships. That one looks like a corvette … it's only about a hundred metres long, but that other one …" A low, amorous growl rolled through the cab. "... that baby is a destroyer, or I'm a groundhog." Obvious making a speedy recovery, Ben slid his growl down into a moan. "Oh dear lord … I can't wait to get my paws on everything in their engineering section. Bliss! Heaven!"

Eva leaned forward, long fingers gripping Jack's shoulder. "Like Ben said, thanks for including us in the madness."

Without looking up, Jack programmed the vehicle to scan a grid. "Of course. I wouldn't dream of doing this without you."

Ben clutched his hands under his chin and made calves' eyes. "Aw, Eva, did you hear that? He does love us!"

Jack shook his head and focused on the APC's controls. "Not in the slightest. I just need your cash."

"It's all any of us want, Ben," Eva said, a wicked chuckle underscoring her words. "It's time you came to grips with that."

A long, heart-broken sigh drifted from Ben's seat. "You've crushed me. Both of you. I expect Jack to be a cold bastard, but you, Eva … that's the deepest cut. I'm bleeding all over the leather seats." He flopped against the side of the machine. "I may never recov—"

"Oh, for the love of God," Jack hollered, cutting straight through Ben's award-winning performance. "Shut up, you idiot, and get back to work. We've got humanity's future to build."

**September 3, 2144 (Two years later) - The Deseado Crater, Mars**

Jack palmed the door control, then stepped back, a broad sweep of his arm ushering his two little ladies over the threshold. "Welcome home, treasures." He grinned as they raced past him, their small burdens dumped within a metre of the door, freeing them to race like fillies on their first day at pasture.

"Husband?"

The soft, teasing call from behind him softened Jack's smile, and he turned. "Yes, wife?" As their eyes met, he just stared, his gaze keen with unabashed appreciation. Everything about her just deepened and became richer as the days passed, and he'd missed her for such a very long time.

Despite being back more than two years, the old sorrow lingered like a draft in a warm room. It provided an aching backbeat to his heart's rhythm, and constantly bolstered his determination to do things better. He could chart a wiser, more aware course for humanity … a designed course rather than the chaotic runaway freight train that had taken Earth's sons and daughters into the stars in his memories.

A soft grunt drew him back to the present as Patricia lifted a leg out of the car. "Curse this belly," she said, her grumbled belied by a smile. "You'd better have the medical center up and running, because I swear this one's going to try to pop early." She held out her hands, grasping his tightly for a moment before allowing him to help her from the car. "I'm so in awe of what you've accomplished in two years, Jack." She looked up at the house—as close a reproduction to their home on Earth as he could manage—and took a long breath. "You've made a construction site under a giant bubble into a home."

Jack drew his very pregnant wife to her feet and wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her brow. "I'm going to give our children a humanity that bows before no one, that strides out into the stars with the strength and conviction that its members belong there. This place is the first step in showing everyone what we're capable of."

"In peace, as leaders and examples of God's great benevolence and power." She beamed up at him for a moment, then rested her head over his heart, its weight comforting. "My legs find that they want to move after the long ride out here," she said. "Will you take us down to the excavation?" When she pulled back, she looked up into his eyes, hers bright with excitement.

"Of course, I've been waiting more than a year to show you what your faith in me has wrought." He reached up, cradling her face in his hands. "Thank you for believing my crazy story. Not many people would."

Her fingers closed around his wrists, that touch grounding him, sinking deep anchors into the martial soil. Thumbs caressing the backs of his hands, she said, "I've always known you were meant for great things." Smile widening, she shrugged a little. "My imagination might not have been able to dream up anything this big, but that's only because I don't have God's all-seeing view." Pulling away, she slipped her hand into his. "Come, let's see these marvels from fifty thousand years ago and so very far away."

They followed the girls into the house, not needing to stop and look around, for their same furnishings sat in the same places. Only the smell differed, trading that sweet, lived in depth for the flat blandness of new. Luckily, the addition of all their belongings had dragged some of Earth in to soften the edges.

"Hey! You two wild monkeys!" Patricia called, her voice ringing through the house. "Let's go see the wonders!"

They'd decided to refer to the Prothean technologies simply as 'the wonders' as he wanted the girls to grow up with a healthy sense of awe in the things that people could create with enough imagination and determination. His children would be raised surrounded by discovery and technology that would give them a massive head start over their peers.

He turned toward the sound of running feet, a proud smile greeting his two beauties as they raced down the hallway from their bedroom, new kittens clutched in their arms. One day soon, when the rest of humanity discovered the existence of mass effect technology and all that stemmed from it, his children would step up to lead them.

"First, let's get the bird's eye view," Jack suggested, leading his wife toward their backyard. A postage stamp compared to their home on Earth, it nonetheless boasted a small patch of grass, a pool and swings for the girls. Despite being independently sealed in case the dome was ever breached, the backyard gave them a wide view of the main complex: a building made to be as beautiful as it was functional, unlike the old Alliance structure.

The dome covered nearly two hundred acres of the crater floor, and within that, a massive central complex surrounded by a ring of housing, and outside that the agricultural research ring. Jack's was the only true estate with a private yard and pool. Ben and Eva had chosen to take apartments built into the main complex..

"It's a miracle, Jack," Patricia said, her voice a hushed whisper. "Humanity will see this place and know the time has come to reach out and take hold of the stars." She glanced up, meeting his eyes for a just a second, but everything he saw there … it slaked a thirst he hadn't even realized plagued him. She held one graceful hand out at the ring of neat, pretty homes surrounding an inner ring of grass and recreational facilities, shops, and a school. "Families will see colonization as a good, healthy choice compared to the filth and crowding on Earth."

She stiffened a little, then looked around as if trying to find the source of something. "It's warm, as warm as a pleasant summer day."

"Panels in the dome store solar radiation and release it over time as heat," he explained, pointing to the wide sections between the clear, aluminum oxynitride sections. "Even at night, it won't go down more than a handful of degrees." He looked toward the outermost ring at the edge of the dome, the greenhouses and agricultural research facilities. "There are massive banks of batteries as well. All the power for the housing and ag rings comes from the sun."

"Back on Earth, they're heralding the complex as the new face of colonial development," Patricia said, taking his hand again, "but even when they stand beneath the dome, they still won't know the true miracle of this place."

Jack nodded. The true work, of course, sat beneath the complex and it's sterile labs. There, accessible only by high security elevators, dwelt the dig-site. As soon as the shell of the complex had shielded the site from prying eyes, they'd begun to dig.

"Daddy," Megan asked, kitten in one hand, the other reaching up to tug on his sleeve. "Are there other kids here?"

Jack released Patricia's hand and crouched to meet both of his daughters on a level. "Not yet, but there will be lots for you to do, and in another couple of months, you're going to have a baby brother to look after." He eased the kitten from her arms, the little ball of fluff letting out an indignant meow. "Let's leave these fellows here, okay? We don't want them getting loose down below."

Megan nodded but sighed. The more outgoing of the two, she'd find Mars lonely until families began to fill the houses and play out in the parks. Jack straightened and led his family back inside. Leaving the kittens inside, they headed down to the tram that led through the inner rings and into the main complex. The girls squealed as it pulled out of their little private station and zipped along its rail.

Jack's earpiece alerted him to an incoming call, a small holo of Ben appearing in the corner of his visual field when he opened the channel.

"Jack, we finished uncovering the stash of element zero. It's in containers, but some of them have broken open." Despite Ben's excitement, he kept casting nervous glances toward the subject of his call. "There's a team cleaning it up."

"Excellent. That's what we've been waiting for." A wide grin broke across Jack's face. So much could start with that find even before they dug the rest out. "Make sure every ounce of it is cleaned up and put in highest security storage, and then decon the team. We don't want the criminal element getting their hands on even the smallest sample of it." He paced to the front viewport, staring out as if he could see through the artful, aluminum oxynitride and steel construction to what lay within and below.

Patricia's arm circled his waist, her touch communicating her excitement. They'd sat up long nights, writing down everything he could remember about the applications of element zero, so she knew what the discovery meant nearly as well as he did.

"Will do." Ben cocked his head. "We've got the top layers scraped off the destroyer-size ship as well." Even though he did an admirable job of trying to contain his glee to a professional level, from the sheer number of times Ben raked his fingers through his hair, Jack knew that his oldest friend danced along the edge of going full-on kid in the candy store window. "You should see her, Jack. Beautiful."

Jack grinned and nodded. "We're on our way in. The ladies wanted the grand tour, and it looks like you've come through for them." He slipped his arm around Patricia's waist on his right and Rachel's trembling shoulders on his left.

Ben gave him a thumbs high, then closed the channel. While Jack had returned to Earth and remained there to organize, oversee development, and run the finances, Eva and Ben had returned to Mars with a large Low-Grav construction team to set up pressurized housing and begin construction. From the looks of his long beard and the ponytail that rivaled Eva's in length, Ben could use a touch of civilization. He'd definitely taken the Indiana Jones-esque persona to heart, right down to the wardrobe. Although, Jack knew Patricia and Eva would rein Ben in if a bullwhip appeared.

The complex's large outer doors opened before them, and they passed through into an elegant, professionally appointed transit hub. They stepped out the off-side of the tram and across a small, hidden access to the high security elevators down into the lowest levels of the complex and the dig site. As Jack passed through the secret entrance, he felt the momentary brush of guilt's ghostly chill. Not even Bill Acker could locate that entrance. Only certain trams opened on the offside, and then only to certain biometrics.

Keeping Bill Acker in the dark pained Jack—particularly once they'd become partners—but he needed to get a few years of development under his belt before bringing the older man into the loop. He intended to share the profits, but the science … the discovery … that needed to be his.

The elevator opened in the viewing gallery and a much different aesthetic. No fancy deco existed in the sublevels. Cold, sterile, metal and ceramic surrounded them on all sides. Science didn't need all the window dressing business required.

"We're here," Jack said, once again holding out an arm to usher them across the threshold. Once in the viewing gallery, he gathered his ladies into the envelope of his arms and led them to the large windows that overlooked the dig site.

The exposed dorsal surface of the destroyer immediately captivated their attention, his wife and children letting out gasps and soft oaths of wonder and fear. Its three hundred and fifty metres of length seemed enormous in the enclosed space, it's sleek lines and dark blue-grey metal reminiscent of the beacons and archives, yet sturdier looking, blockier and practical. War did that, he supposed.

After two years of belief and planning, reality truly settled into Jack's gut as he stared down at that ship from another cycle. A weight he had almost allowed himself to forget pressed down on him, billions of voices whispering to him of duty and need. He squared his shoulders and spread his feet apart to help balance the load: millions of years of ghosts and a million more years of hope did not sit easily.

"It begins here," he said, his voice soft but thick with awe. "Right here, in this moment, the salvation of humanity … of the entire galaxy … settles in our hands." He leaned into his wife's side, her warm helping to ease the terrible weight. "And we've been given the tools to succeed. We will succeed."

Patricia's arm tightened around him, almost to the point of becoming painful. "Make thee an ark of gopher wood; rooms shalt thou make in the ark, and shalt pitch it within and without with pitch," she whispered. (1)

(A-N: Sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I will try to do better. Also, I apologize for any and all ugly little grammatical glitches as this story has yet to shackle ... I mean find a beta. :D Next chapter zaps us back 200 years to the sunny shores of Tuchanka.  *hugs to all who want them*)

(1) King James Bible, Genesis 6:13


	6. Chapter Six - Even Roses need Crap to Grow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunder pounded the air, deep and rolling. Wrex whirled to face the exit as the ground beneath his feet heaved, tossing him the length of the chamber. He bounced off the wall and crashed into the floor, face down and reeling. Concrete and rock cracked, screaming and roaring as splits tore into gashes along the seams in the stone.

**Uzluk --** The head and face covering worn by krogan females.

**  
**Gikgah** \-- Ancient, ziggurat-like temple structures. **

 

**1863 CE, Ruins of the Gikgah of Niraxahk (43 Years later)**

"It's not defensible, Wrex." The clan leader of the female Urdnot strode down the plaza, pausing to run her fingers over the pale green leaves of a plant. After a moment, she shook her head and braced her spine as if convincing herself his plan wouldn't work. Her posture sent a flare of annoyance burning up his spine, the effect doubling when she grumbled and said, "It's too big. It'll take a hundred cycles to rebuild."

"It's as defensible as the silo." He let out a long rumble of a sigh. He doubted he'd ever figure out why they had to go through the same dance every time he proposed something. If he'd proposed radical ideas that needed to undergo a rigid negotiation, he could see her jockeying for advantage. However, since he intended to give her whatever it took to make living conditions more comfortable for the females and pups of the united clans, he just didn't see the point in her twisting his quad.

He lifted a hand toward the staircase down into the ancient ruins. "There are only three entrances to the underground section, and the entrances to the temple all provide excellent sightlines and will be easily defended when we replace the doors." Following her, he stopped to indicate the springs that ran through the courtyard. Thanks to the clean, spring water, green thrived along the banks, and sprouted up through cracks in the stone. "In this place, Urdnot could finally heave itself out of the rubble and build a new future." Stepping in front of her, he captured and held her stare. "Don't you want to see the pups of Urdnot playing under the sun, thriving and healthy?"

She growled a little in answer to his hamfisted attempt at manipulation, but a slight softening around her eyes gave him hope. As obstinate and frustrating as she could be, Urdnot Mellir truly did want what the best for the krogan in her care. "Show me the rest," she said, the words just managing to avoid sounding like a command.

As they made their way down the long plaza toward the entrance to the tunnels, he felt a tension building between them, the pressure of something she needed to discuss but knew he wouldn't like. Wrex waited her out, a mixture of dread and amusement building like a storm on the horizon as he guessed its shape.

Its shape almost always appeared in the person of Urdnot Bakara.

"Bakara has requested to speak with you," Mellir said, her tone adding the 'again' at the end. "And, in this, I agree with her," she continued in response to his low growl. She stopped, pinning him with a tilted stare when he turned to face her. "You've told all the infertile that one day, their patience and hope will bear fruit."

The belief and hope in her eyes humbled him. As his counterpart, and most staunch supporter since that first day when he'd strode into her camp, soaked in blood, and thrown the carcasses of three varren at her feet, she deserved his respect. And more, that he actually listen rather than spending her half of the conversation planning what he intended to say to argue against her.

He focused on her as she continued, "You've promised that when the krogan prove to the council that they are willing and able to take a place side by side with the other races that they will end our centuries of suffering."

A sharp nod confirmed his belief in her words. "The krogan will not convince the council of anything in fifty cycles or a hundred. I won't even convince the krogan to stop killing each other in fifty or a hundred cycles."

An impatient hand sliced the air between them. "We understand this," she continued, "and that is why I think you should consider what Bakara has to say. We have thousands upon thousands of infertile qadix languishing in despair because they lack purpose. They fill their days with caring for too few pups, and when that sucks the soul from their bodies, they wander out into the sand to die."

Wrex filled his lungs with searing air and nodded. "What does she want me to do about it other than break a millennia of tradition?" He ushered her onward with a slight wave of his hand, settling in to walk at her side as they passed into the cool, dark tunnels.

"It took the males forty cycles to hunt enough klixen and maws, to tear apart and sell enough scrap to afford that fancy new recycler." She cut a glance across at him, her eye sparkling in the gloom. "With the infertile females working alongside the males, we could have cut that time in half. If we trained female warriors—" She stabbed a finger into his chest to stop his protest. "Shiagur was the last warlord to be defeated by the turians, so don't try to use that to slither out of this."

"Bakara asks … you ask too much." His turn to throw up a hand to still her words. "Infertile or not, Urdnot's females will be protected. When the genophage—"

"Well, then we must protect the fertile males!" Mellir snorted and shook her head. "Whether our females die in accidents or varren attacks while working to rebuild our home, or take a bullet while defending their fertile sisters, or commit suicide out of despair, dead is dead, Wrex." She stopped at the bottom of the long flight of stairs and turned a slow circle. "You speak of this place as hope, a new beginning." She finished her circle, staring him in the eye. "Purpose breeds hope, Wrex, and a very large portion of your people are living with neither."

Wrex knew it was true. He saw the numbers dwindling with each visit. With so many of Urdnot's males finding new roles tearing down the edifices of their broken past and building the future, the females found themselves cast even further adrift. Still, anything he did that appeared to place females at risk would meet with opposition: he was changing his clan's way of life too fast for most, so yes, he'd faced a great deal of very vocal opposition.

Of course, that just meant he had room to negotiate concessions.

Keeping his grin rigidly tied down, he nodded. "Bring the allied female clans and the shamans together. If they also wish to labour toward building a stronger Tuchanka, we will show them this place and see if they remain determined with a hundred cycles of work ahead of them."

A belligerent mutter accompanied the shaking of her head, but she held out a hand, clasping wrists with him when he reciprocated. "Done."

Mellir strode further into the first chamber. "Defensible, but dark. We'll need to get sunlight down here and running water." Despite her finding fault, he heard the smile in her voice and knew that she could see the finished compound in her mind, rising gleaming and green from the sand. A beacon of hope for all krogan, it would also serve as notice to the council that krogan society was changing, preparing for a new role in the galaxy.

Wrex spun toward the deep tunnels, something in the air smelled wrong. A low growl rumbled in his throat, surprising him as some deep, hidden part of him responded to a threat he couldn't see.

"Wrex?" Mellir stiffened, spinning to face their six, moving to cover them without hesitation or question. "What is it?" She froze, as still and silent as death, matching him as they searched for any sign of attack.

Thunder pounded the air, deep and rolling. Wrex whirled to face the exit as the ground beneath his feet heaved, tossing him the length of the chamber. He bounced off the wall and crashed into the floor, face down and reeling. Concrete and rock cracked, screaming and roaring as splits tore into gashes along the seams in the stone.

"Thresher maw?" Mellir asked, shouting over the thunder of falling rock.

Wrex shoved himself up onto his feet, grabbed the _qadin_ around her waist and lifted her off the ground. It took her only a couple of steps to get her feet under her and pull away, sprinting up the stairs towards the light.

He bolted out into the center of the complex where sky opened above his head and turned to face the Urdnot camp. A fat column of smoke and dust boiled up from the open silo hatch. "No!" he bellowed, his heart exploding with a rage that poured out along his veins like magma. "It's not a maw!"

Mellir beat him back to the truck, the _qadin_ slipping behind the controls to bring the vehicle roaring to life. Wrex and his krantt dove into the hold, scrambling for purchase as she took off before they got the hatches sealed. She drove with the purpose and fury that only a matriarch can show when her brood is threatened.

Wrex allowed the pain of slamming off the sides and roof of the truck to feed his rage, building it to the point where it would take a turian cruiser to stop him once they reached the camp. Whoever hid behind that thick column of smoke would end the day in pieces. But then a tiny whisper spoke with Shepard's voice, asking him if butchering the attackers would help or hinder krogan cultural rebirth. The anger wrapped strong fingers around reason's throat and choked the life out of it.

The truck stopped so suddenly that it threw them all into a pile at the front of the compartment. Wrex fought to land nearest the door, wrenching it open as soon as the vehicle stopped lurching enough for him to move. Shotgun finding its way into his hands even as he ran, Wrex raced into the garage tunnel, smoke closing in around him in acrid, black clouds. A heavy cough assured him that he'd never make it to the center of the camp without clean air. Letting out a long, low growl, he paused for one, grudging second to put on his helmet, sealing the smoke out. Still, what he'd inhaled burned in his lungs, making him choke as he pushed further in.

Despite the amount of smoke and dust, the tunnel hadn't caved in and they made it to the first body just outside the new labs, in the mechanic's bay. Two males, not killed by blast damage, but bullets. He started to crouch down next to them, but then he saw it … no, them: two vehicles that didn't belong.

Hurling himself forward even as he straightened, Wrex ran to the first. A sleek aircar, it couldn't be more out of place on Tuchanka. Although certainly not new, and covered with marks that declared it the survivor of more than a little action, no krogan would own something so slick and useless. No merc organization or military either, so either civilian or a Spectre. He growled low and moved forward to the second vehicle. That one he knew … at least knew the race it belonged to.

Salarians.

His vision flashing red and gold, like trying to stare through a blaze, Wrex pushed into the main part of the camp, his limbs numb, thoughts scrambled and slow as they struggled through the thick tar of growing rage. Rubble and bodies lay scattered on the floor, but again, the explosion wasn't the cause of death. Someone had shot their way into camp, and planted the explosives.

As he pushed further in, he found the body of the first female. Her uzluk, lying two strides away, held his stare captive, the material blood red against the grey. When he finally tore his eyes from the headdress, they latched onto the shotgun clutched in her hands. Huge wounds laced with shrapnel tore through her hide and clothing, blood seeping out to pool, brilliant orange-red, in the cracks in the floor.

He spun toward the source of the smoke: the center of camp. The female compound. The fire burning through his veins flash-froze into horror. Whoever they were, the bastards had come into camp to kill females and pups. A belly-deep roar of helpless fury tore from his throat, deafening inside his helmet. All his righteous rage … his murderous intent fled on the back of that bellow. Had he caused this? Were his attempts to pull the krogan out of the mud and blood and rubble the reason that female lay torn apart?

"Naraka!" A higher, but no less furious, shriek yanked him from the grip of his guilt and doubt as Mellir raced past toward the entrance to the female camp. A massive shotgun sat easily in her hands, sweeping the smoke for a target, any target judging by the knife-edge in her stare.

No! No matter how grievous the blow, they needed to hold the course. The dead female—Naraka—demanded it.

"Mellir!" As close as he teetered to joining her in spilling blood, as much as he wished to shoot his way to vengeance, seeing his partner bent on righteous murder snapped the back of his rage. If they murdered an STG team or a Spectre, no matter how justified, the council would use it as an excuse to nuke Urdnot from orbit. The krogan would never get a chance to prove anything to anyone.

Wrex ran after the female clan chief, catching up with her at the gate to the female camp. She stood over three bodies, all females, their number having died trying to keep the enemy away from the rest.

When Wrex stopped next to her, she spun, the shotgun aimed at his gut. "This is what we get for tiptoeing about, trying to change our fate, Wrex."

He gripped her shoulder, shaking her roughly. "We can't shoot our way to vengeance." He looked past her to the rest. "We need to hold the rage tight and capture the ones who did this." All the air in his lungs let go with a huge grunt as Mellir buried the butt of her shotgun in his gut and wrenched loose of his grip.

"Do you truly think me so stupid?" She spun away from him, stepping over her dead charges. "But this ends here, Wrex. We'll arm the females who wish to fight, and we'll train them. Enough dancing around the council. Urdnot will lift a glorious new city from the rubble of the wastelands, and we'll step out from under the cloak of shame our ancestor's hung from our backs." She whirled back around when some of the krantt grumbled. "And if we must remind you why songs are still sung for Shiagur's memory, we will."

Wrex groaned, his gut feeling as though the shotgun remained embedded between his stomachs, but her words pulled him straight. They needed to see to their dead. Two steps through the gate, a flash blue and red ripped his attention from the female clan chief and into the smoke. He bounded ahead of Mellir, shielding her with his body as he strode toward whatever or whomever dared approach.

"Who's there?" he called, able to make out an asari as she walked closer, someone dragging along beside her. "Give us your name or we'll open fire and find out what we can from your corpse."

The asari stopped a handful of paces away, her features still murky through the thinning smoke. "My name is Samara, I am a servant of the Justicar code, and no threat to you."

Wrex froze for a half second, then put out an arm to hold Mellir back as the female charged forward. "Samara?" he asked. A handful of conversations with Shepard, and that last night … the party in the commander's Citadel apartment rose up around him, as thick and starved as ghosts. "What are you doing in the middle of an attack on my camp?" When Mellir knocked him with an elbow, he glanced at her and shook his head. "I know this asari. Or rather, I know of her," he amended. "She didn't do this."

Mellir shoved him aside, storming forward to push into the asari, standing nose to nose with her, her entire body shaking with an urge Wrex knew all too well. "If you didn't do this, why are you here?"

The ageless warrior let out a long breath. "I have been observing your camp for some time in relation to another matter. My code does not allow me to stand by and allow innocents to come to harm, so when the attack began, I responded."

Wrex took a deep breath, and gripped Mellir's shoulder, easing her back.

"Was it the turians or STG?" he asked. His hands convulsed, clenching his shotgun so tightly that his talons threatened to lock up, as the words sliced their way from his throat.

A wounded sort of serenity met his anger, and the asari shook her head. "STG." She dumped a writhing, bound salarian on the ground. "I took the liberty of confining a few prisoners. I assumed you'd have questions for them."

His krantt roared as one, surging toward the salarian sprawled at the asari's feet, but Wrex spun to meet their charge. "No!" Using the shout as a release valve, he poured his emotions into volume, silencing them all. "Back off. Control it!"

"You ask too much, Wrex!" Barl roared, the larger male slamming his chest into Wrex's as he tried to bull past. "We sit in silence as you change everything we are, but asking us to spare this varren shit when they've killed our females! Our pups! It's too much!"

"I know," Wrex shouted back. "I feel the rage. I know the fire that burns in here." He punched his friend in the chest. "But killing the salarians only proves them right. It justifies this attack." He shoved Barl back a couple of times, then tapped his crest against his oldest friend's. "It proves we're nothing but brutes needing to be put down. Are you?" He finally captured Barl's furious glare. "Is that all you are?"

"Our pups!" Mellir pressed into him when Barl fell back. "Our beautiful females! What threat did any of them offer?" She slammed both fists into his chest, staggering him. He allowed her to vent her rage and grief on him, knowing she needed that outlet.

"Those four females died," the asari said, her voice soft and sympathetic, her posture stern but relaxed. "They helped me evacuate the rest and covered our retreat." She stepped around Wrex to face Mellir. "The pups and the rest of the females are hiding in a tunnel a kilometre away. The males are guarding them."

Mellir folded onto her knees, her rage evaporating. "They're alive?"

"They are." The asari drew herself up, steel forming itself into a blade, as she turned to face Wrex again. "What would you do with the prisoners?" The words challenged him, daring him to prove her suspicions wrong … or perhaps to prove them right.

"Gut them," Barl replied before Wrex could gather his thoughts. The revelation that his clan—his dream—hadn't been reduced to smoldering corpses stripped the chief bare, leaving him naked and shaking down to the marrow of his bones. Barl's continued aggression forced much needed air into Wrex's lungs.

"Go secure the entrances," Wrex ordered without turning to his krantt. "Sweep through, look for survivors, and make sure there are no more bombs, then secure the camp." Focusing a stare filled with violent promise over his shoulder at Barl, Wrex waited. "Touch nothing, record everything. I want clean records of what happened here."

He reached out, slamming his palm into Barl's shoulder. "If you find any salarians alive, bring them back that way." He gripped his oldest friend's armour and pulled him in, thumping their crests together, not in challenge, but affection and growing hope. "We'll take them before the council. Urdnot will rise from these ashes, Barl. Trust me."

After a breath, the male nodded and returned the gesture. "Haven't I always?" He drew away and waved to the others. "Let's get the camp safe for our females."

Samara stepped close enough that Wrex could make out her features, recognizing her through the filth and her breather mask. "You haven't answered my question? Will you repay death with death?"

Wrex shook his head. "No." He turned to Mellir. "Call the CDEM station and contact the turian commander, Quarn. Tell him to come down here with a small squad. We'll meet him at the silo."

"Call Quarn? You're going to take this to the Council?" Mellir asked, her eyes shining as they stared into his, either with the smoke, or with something that could almost be mistaken for pride.

He nodded then stared down the asari. "Justicars hold an honoured place in this galaxy … a trusted place. Will you tell the council what you've seen here while watching us? The truth?" Stepping toward her, he tilted his chin up, not wanting her to mistake his asking as begging. "Do this, and I will help you see your other purpose fulfilled."

The justicar met his stare, serenity and no small amount of pride meeting his own for long moments before she nodded. "By the code, I swear it." She nodded to one of the small homes behind her. "I'll take you to the prisoners."

Wrex followed, his rage fading as the wheels in his head began to turn. The STG trying to wipe out sixty cycles of sweat and blood could turn out to be the best thing that had happened to Urdnot, thanks to the justicar's intervention.

"This other matter of yours," he said, casting a glance in her direction as they strode through the center of the female camp, "it's the ardat-yakshi in the wasteland?"

Samara spun to face him, her expression a war between anger, surprise, and confusion. "What do you know of this?" she asked, the words a demand rather than a query.

Wrex continued walking, leaving it to her to follow or not. "A priestess of beguiling power in the wastelands promising to cure the genophage. Most who sneak off for her cure never return. Those who do sing her praises and then disappear themselves." He shrugged, a single roll of his shoulders beneath the crimson weight of his armour. "As for the rest, it's a long story you wouldn't believe anyway."

Samara stepped back up beside him, her blue-eyed stare chill against the side of his face. "Perhaps I should be the judge of that for myself."

Wrex chuckled, hard and edged. "After you help me with the council."

It took nearly two hours for the Council Demilitarization Enforcement Mission commander, a turian named Decan Quarn, to arrive. Wrex, Mellir, and Samara met his shuttle on the landing pad in the upper level of the silo. The fact the most military parts of the camp remained undamaged and even free of smoke screamed volumes about the STG's purpose. They meant to rip the heart out of Urdnot, provoking them into violence and quite possibly turn the rest of the allied clans against them.

"Urdnot Wrex?" Quarn called, his voice stiff, formal, and more than a touch suspicious. It was the tone of a torin who suspected Wrex of luring him into a trap. He stepped down, six more turians sticking to his heels. Wrex couldn't blame him. In the fourteen hundred cycles since the rebellions, no krogan had asked for the CDEM commander's presence.

"I'm Urdnot Wrex." The clan chief stepped forward. "You're here because I need witnesses. But first ... " He stepped into the turian's space. "Did you know they were coming to kill our females and pups?" A glare filled with violent promise leaned further in. "Did you tell the council Urdnot needed to be destroyed?"

To his credit, Quarn didn't step back, he merely met Wrex's question with a solid wall of calm composure. "I was aware of nothing until the STG ship appeared on our LADAR screens. I sent a message to the Citadel asking for confirmation of a mission taking place on Tuchanka, but did not receive a reply. Then we registered the explosion."

Activating his omnitool, he called up something on a screen and then stepped back, holding his omnitool up for Wrex to see. "This is the log and contents of the five messages I have sent since the explosion."

Wrex read down the list, then backed away. The generous peppering of vulgar, turian expletives throughout Quarn's messages left Wrex convinced that the CDEM commander hadn't know about the attack.

"My reports to the Council on your actions over the past decade have been very favourable," Quarn continued, snapping to attention, rigid with honour-filled pride. "They're a matter of public record. I support your rebuilding efforts, and your attempts to focus your people on more constructive outlets for their talents."

The turian commander stepped away from the shuttle and looked down at the line of huddled salarians. Wrex didn't need to know turian expressions to see the _torin's_ surprise at the presence of live prisoners. "You didn't kill them?"

Wrex scoffed, a low rumbling cough deep in his throat. "Dead salarians don't make very good witnesses." He looked down at the STG captain and curled his lip. "Hard to interrogate."

At the word interrogate, the turian stiffened. "Have you been tortured?" he asked, his question directed to the salarian despite his stare remaining fixed on Wrex. Stepping forward, he placed himself between the krogan and their prisoners, his statement obvious.

"No," the salarian captain replied. "They haven't questioned us." He cleared his throat, a nervous sort of sound. "And they haven't laid a hand on us."

"Wanted you to hear it fresh," Wrex said before the turian could get further than a lifted brow plate. "As I said, I called you here to witness this attack." He leaned around the turian to glare at the STG, looming over them enough that the captain blanched. "These cowardly pyjaks attacked females and pups. They intended to destroy Urdnot for the crime of rebuilding our home." He rolled his shoulders back and stabbed out his chin, defiant, daring the commander to speak. Quard didn't accept, earning a toothy grimace. "I won't allow them to succeed, as much as I want to punch a hole through their guts and strangle them with their own intestines."

Quarn nodded. "Very well. You realize that if the council ordered this attack, no amount of evidence will prove sufficient." As if trying to mitigate Wrex's reaction, he gestured for them to lead on, but turned to his squad. "Radin, Quellad, stay here and keep an eye on Urdnot's guests. They're officially under arrest on suspicion of terrorism. Let them know their rights under the Citadel Conventions."

Wrex studied the tall, lanky officer, something about the _torin's_ manner leading him in the vague direction of trust. Still, the krogan had never gained anything through trust. Well, not until Shepard. "Barl, Trav, keep an eye on everyone."

"Shoot to kill?" Barl asked, lifting one corner of his mouth to sneer down at the salarians.

"No, these pyjaks are valuable." He laughed, slow and menacing despite the growing certainty and lightness in his belly. It felt a little like the time he slurped up the remains of a varren carcass that had been sitting in the sun long enough to liquify, but he thought it might be real, actual hope. "They're going to buy our future."

* * *

(A-N: Thanks so much for continuing to support this story. I truly appreciate the reviews and the silent readers both. Thank you.)


	7. Chapter Seven - The Irrepressible Commander Quarn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What are your plans for the krogan, Urdnot Wrex?" the asari councilor asked, her hands drifting up as if she meant to cross her arms, but then they settled to her console. "Where do you see your people in another two hundred or a thousand cycles?"

**Ymek Uzum** \- A carnivorous vine native to Tuchanka. It grows in pits and depressions, subduing its prey with hallucinogens. The prey feels little to no pain, trapped in a hallucinogenic haze, as the plant digests it alive.

 **Gikgah** \- Ancient, ziggurat-like temple structures.

 **Qadin** : (pronounced kah-dihn) Female after undergoing the rite of passage (female version)

 **Qansiz:** (pronounced kan-sihz) Unblooded … innocent. Stage of a warrior's ascent between the Rites of Passage and Birinc Qan.

**1863 CE, Citadel (Six weeks later)**

The salarian councillor bristled but leaned back on one hip, arms locked down across his chest, his attitude one of such disdain that Wrex couldn't help but smirk: a slow, dangerous rictus. "And how do we know that this new krogan society isn't arming itself through the black market? Your clan now controls more wealth than all the clans combined going back a thousand cycles." The salarian's condescension cut, cold and sharp, but he might as well not have bothered, the blades just bounced off Wrex's armour, the layers thick after a lifetime and a half.

Until that moment, Wrex never understood how Shepard put up with it. She always said that barking dogs were too busy to bite, but he'd never understood what she meant. While understanding wiped out his fear, it upped his unease. They were scared. They saw what the krogan could evolve into, what they could have evolved into without salarian intervention, and the glory and power of that terrified them.

"Urdnot has conformed to the conditions of the surrender," Wrex replied. "Search our territory. You'll find only handheld weapons; ancient, deactivated ground defense turrets; and vehicles with no mounted weapons. Our credits have been spent on recycling and construction equipment as well as constructing water and soil reclamation plants."

"I have filed all of Clan Urdnot's purchase requests with my reports," Commander Quarn said, stepping up next to Wrex. The turian looked even more ready to punch a fist straight through the salarian than Wrex felt. "My people have inspected all the crates coming in and being shipped out. The manifests for all shipments have conformed exactly to CDEM conditions and regulations."

He stepped out ahead of Wrex. "Look, you know as well as I do that Urdnot Wrex is trying to build his people a safe, habitable home, and you're terrified by the fact that the krogan might be pulling themselves out of the scattered, mercenary role we've all become accustomed to. The rebellions nearly destroyed us all, including the krogan." Rolling his shoulders in a tight shrug, Quarn continued, "Can we allow for the fact that the krogan have learned from the mistakes of their forebearers … the mistakes created by salarian intervention?"

Wrex chuckled under his breath, the strangeness of a turian arguing for Urdnot making him feel as though he'd fallen head first into a pit of _ymek uzum_. He reached out, closing his fingers on the turian commander's shoulder, trying to ease him back before they both ended up censured by the council.

Instead of backing down, Quarn glanced over at Wrex and shook his head before turning back to the council. "My predecessor told me that my job was to watch Urdnot for the slightest excuse to unleash hell. I went into the job thinking that I was dealing with a loose cannon spoiling for war ... that Urdnot Wrex was trying to build the krogan into a galactic threat."

Quarn paced a few steps back and forth, then seemed to come to a decision of some kind and activated him omnitool. "The file I'm sending you is all of the updates, reports, requisitions, and applications for approval that Wrex and Urdnot Mellir sent to my predecessor. More than forty cycles of them. Some of them are as basic as requests for food for the pups during a varren plague. All remained unsent."

Wrex watched the council, as surprised as they were at the contents of the file that appeared on his tool. He thought it had all been forwarded to the council and rejected. The sludge-thick anger simmering in his gut began to boil. They hadn't even been sent on. No wonder the council suspected him of sneaking around behind their back.

"As you can see," Quarn continued, "my predecessor set Wrex up. Commander Vinnitus was determined to provoke a conflict that would end in a krogan extinction."

"We will review this evidence at a later date," the turian councillor said, waving his talons as if dismissing its importance. Of course he was.

Wrex took a long breath and cracked his neck, tightening his grip on his temper. While he appreciated Quarn presenting the evidence of his forthright intentions, they hadn't come before the council to deal with that. They stood there to confront the council regarding the STG attack, and he didn't intend to leave without getting what he came for.

"The STG doesn't make a move without orders from the council or the dalatrasses," Wrex said, stepping up to the edge of the platform. "So someone sent them to kill our females and pups." Narrowing his eyes, he leaned toward them. A heady, feral sort of satisfaction met their subtle shift backwards. Good, they could feel the fine edge cutting into the soles of their feet. "We're moving the clan to the _Gikgah_ of Niraxahk. We installed a water reclamation and purification plant a decade ago, and are reclaiming the soil. It's ready for us to start rebuilding." He gave them a crooked, sneering sort of grin. "And we're going to have council support for the whole thing."

"What are your plans for the krogan, Urdnot Wrex?" the asari councillor asked, her hands drifting up as if she meant to cross her arms, but then they settled to her console. "Where do you see your people in another two hundred or a thousand cycles?"

"In two hundred cycles, I see half the population of Tuchanka united under Clan Urdnot. I see an embassy on the Citadel, krogan soldiers protecting the galaxy alongside the turians, asari, and hu—." He clamped his jaw shut on the last word. "And even the salarians." Giving them a big, grimace of a smile, he shrugged. "I see colonies everywhere owing the krogan their peace of mind because we kill the monsters." His laugh rolled out slow and heavy, a boulder sliding down a mountainside. "In three or four hundred cycles, I see a krogan councillor standing up there beside you."

He stepped to the very edge of the platform and lifted one huge finger to jab at each of them in turn. "And I see you helping me make all that happen, because otherwise we go public with our evidence that the salarians' committed war crimes against Clan Urdnot." Before they could start squawking about blackmail, he nodded to Quarn, who activated his omnitool, sending the recorded footage to the large holo-screen behind the council.

"Wrex called us immediately after returning to the clan holding," Quarn stated. "All but two of the STG personnel were held captive, awaiting my arrival." He started the vid, showing the unharmed salarians.

"And what of the other two?" the salarian council demanded.

Wrex scowled, surprised for what he swore would be the last time. When faced with documented evidence of the STG's war crimes, the councillor cared about two dead agents? The universe truly was a madder place than he'd appreciated as a merc. He almost chuckled. Took becoming a politician to see the true face of madness.

Samara stepped forward, the justicar's presence owning the chamber the moment she moved. "I killed them while defending the females and pups." Her words flowed like the waters of the stream in the temple ruins: clear, cool, and musical in its temerity. "They left me little choice."

The asari councillor shifted a little. "What required a justicar's presence on Tuchanka?" A heavy ice flow crept over the entire chamber, a glacier that left Wrex certain that both asari knew exactly why Samara had been watching Urdnot. It also left him certain he'd be asking Samara if she suspected her fugitive had been assisted in arriving on his planet.

"I believe my quarry hiding in the wastelands outside Urdnot territory. I keep watch for krogan sneaking off to follow the rumours of her miraculous healing powers." Samara nodded to Quarn, who had halted the recording. When it continued, she said, "I maintain a careful watch over the female compound within the camp, for it is the females who are most susceptible. I witnessed the STG planting their devices."

She stiffened, fury radiating through her forced calm and regal manner. "The agents did not plant the explosives in the armoury, the garage, or any other part of the compound with the slightest military application. They planted the bombs specifically to kill Urdnot's females and pups, and waited until the males were all away working or hunting to do so." Impossibly, she drew herself taller and more rigid, her body glowing with a slight aura that Wrex assumed constituted some sort of threat.

The asari councillor's reaction confirmed his belief.

Unfazed, Samara continued, "I could not stand by and allow such a blatant war crime to be committed against innocents." Releasing a breath that sounded like a pressure relief valve purging, she let the biotic aura dissipate, but her manner didn't thaw a millimetre. "With the help of the handful of males in the camp and a few of the infertile females, I subdued the STG agents and evacuated the clan to a safe location." She lifted a long, slender arm to point out the bodies of the three dead females. "These three sacrificed themselves to ensure the rest escaped. They stood bravely in the face of a most cowardly attack."

Quarn gestured toward the huge holo-screen. "The evidence supports the justicar's testimony, as you can see." Activating a laser pointer, Quarn launched into an analysis of the destruction. When he completed his dissection of the vid, he brought up an image of the female camp prior to the bombing. "If we conclude that the STG acted to quell a threat, this is it, Councillors: comfortable dwellings, running water, quality sanitation, reliable power, heat, and even small vegetable gardens growing under gold halide lights." He stepped back, leaving the image of females working and pups playing up there until he took his position behind Wrex.

The three councillors turned to face each of the others in turn, their silence screaming louder than any protest.

The asari clasped her hands behind her back and tilted her chin up. "What are you asking the council for, Urdnot Wrex?" Her tone rang with bitter resignation. If it took those pyjaks five minutes to begin plotting their revenge, he'd be a varren's chew toy. Let them. He wouldn't let them, their Spectres, or the STG catch him by surprise again.

He rolled his eyes, imagining the victorious gleam in Urdnot Bakara's eyes when he allowed female warriors.

A furious smile twisted Wrex's face as he focused back on the council. "The freedom to rebuild my planet and my people." Drawing himself up to match the asari's arrogance, he laced his words with a not-so-subtle roar. A warrior he remained, not some pleading supplicant. "I will conform to the terms of the krogan surrender until the time comes when a krogan stands here in my place, the representative of a renewed people. On that day, you will tear up that surrender and the krogan will stand side by side among the races, proud of who they are, apologizing to no one." He backed up a single step. "And you will be glad that we are."

**1864 CE Gikgah of Niraxahk (18 months later)**

Wrex strode out of the _gikgah's_ upper west entrance and turned his face toward Aralakh, the late afternoon sun beating down with all of its usual merciless heat. He sucked in a deep breath, inflating his lungs with the smells of sand, flowing water, green ... life. A low roar rumbled beneath the exhale. Stretching his arms out to the side, he rolled his shoulders until they cracked, then back further, arching backwards until a series of crunching sounds popped along his spine.

A thick groan of pure pleasure rumbled from his throat as he settled his armour up his shoulders. Too many hours and days spent hunched over piles of rubble threatened to age him long before his time. Despite being born to bathe in the blood and chaos of war, he couldn't ask his people to follow where he refused to lead. So, he spent his days up to his shoulders in rubble and concrete, in clearing blocked tunnels and building waterways. He drew a line when it came to growing crops.

Damn crops. He left that to Mellir.

Hearing quick footsteps climbing toward him, Wrex shaded his eyes and glared down on the turian spy. "You here just to bust my quad again, Quarn?"

"Probably twice, since they regenerate." The commander grinned, his mandibles giving a single, hard flick. "But busting your balls is just a perk today. I'm here to make a delivery." He held his arm out toward the clan's new spaceport. "She's a beauty. Going to come and see her?"

Wrex nodded. "Finally found us a second transport?" He stepped up beside the turian, clapping him on the back hard enough to throw him down a couple of steps. "Took you long enough."

Quarn pinwheeled his arms for a second, managing to catch his balance even as Wrex reached out to grab him. The proud turian chuffed and straightened his armour. "Your budgetary constraints didn't make it easy, but luckily I know a volus ship dealer who enjoys games of chance a little too much for his own good." He arched his neck. "It helps that I possess a long, proud lineage of rogues and ne'er-do-wells."

Taking the lead down the long flight of steps to the _gikgah's_ courtyard, Wrex just glanced at the torin and cocked a brow. "So you brought me change?"

"Hardly." Quarn scoffed. "I treated myself to a luxury stay at the premier spa on Palaven. You know, to release all the stress that builds up dealing with your charming self."

Wrex let out a rude belch-cough. "You remind me of a turian I knew in another life. He thought he was funny, too."

"Oh? I remind you of him?" Quarn asked, his neck arching a little, brow plate lifted, his expression sly. "So, he was exceptionally good looking and intelligent? A gifted and honourable leader? A turian's turian."

"No, he was wrong about being funny," Wrex deadpanned.

Quarn laughed. "So, the resemblance is minimal, then? Disappointing. I'd like to think I'm not the only exceptional specimen out there."

Wrex elbowed the turian, hard, stifling a chuckle with a low growl. "Exceptional? Ha!" He'd never expected to like another turian, feeling secure in his belief that Garrus amounted to a solitary exception to the rule. When Quarn stuck his neck out with the council, promising to oversee the krogan rebuilding personally, Wrex suspected a trap, but the commander had come through for them fifty times over.

When they reached the courtyard, the turian nodded toward a group of young krogan moving through the slow, precise movements of martial practice. At the head of their formation, the asari justicar coached and encouraged. "Samara still hasn't found her quarry?"

Wrex shook his head. "The 'healer' avoids trying to lure anyone away from Urdnot, so we're forced to search. We've narrowed it down to a couple hundred square klicks around the Pass of Rakikz." He led the way across to what could almost call itself a spaceport. "I believe she ran off-world after we met with the council, but Samara's stubborn enough to be a _qadin_. She insists this Morinth is still here."

They crossed a narrow bridge over what had once been a wasteland of sand and the remains of an ancient military installation. After laying a deep, maw-proof foundation of concrete and huge stone slabs, they'd spread a thick layer of reclaimed, rejuvenated soil and planted the _gikgah's_ first fields. On the other side of the bridge, they entered the heart of the _gikgah_ , the memorial field, an ancient version of the Hollows.

Circling the massive sunspire in the front, they walked into the shade of the memorial, then out the left side, back out into the sun. The complex started within two months of Wrex's return from the Citadel. They'd built a large platform built with a solid enough foundation to withstand thresher maws and enough area to land three large transports and the clan's few shuttles.

Quarn stopped as the spaceport opened in front of them. "This city is going to be the envy of every world spinning in a few hundred cycles," he said, letting out a low whistle of awe. "If I have a regret, it's that I won't see what the krogan have become by the time they lay your wrinkled, old body out here."

Wrex just let out a throaty snort, and buried his elbow in the turian's side.

The last cycle had seen a small market crop up just inside the _gikgah_ walls at the port entrance. What started as one, brave volus willing to take a chance to open a new market had burgeoned into nearly a dozen coming and going on a rotating schedule. For the first half-cycle, only Urdnot and its allies made use of it, but a few months earlier, other clans, even rivals, began frequenting the stalls. Wrex encouraged his rivals to take advantage of the rich rewards of Urdnot's growing wealth and influence. He might not be able to meld all the clans into one—nor did he want to—but he could build a society where all the varied clans worked together.

"Is that Gatatog?" Quarn asked, pointing to a small cluster of warriors lurking outside one of the stalls as they stepped out onto the tarmac. He laughed, low and a little wicked. "Uvenk, no less." He made a clicking whistle. "Is he here to open serious talks, or do we play another game of find the assassin?"

Wrex let out three amused, vicious-sounding chuckles. "You never know with Uvenk. The maintenance garage is nearly finished and three more asari merchants and a volus trader added Urdnot to their routes." Wrex stabbed a finger at the bustling crowd around the market stalls. "Uvenk's a pyjak in a roasting pit: he doesn't know whether to take advantage of what Urdnot's building, or piss on himself because he fears our influence with the other clans."

"Pissing himself would be helpful in a roasting pit." Quarn's mandibles twitched, but Wrex just rumbled. The next second, the CDEM commander turned to look at the new maintenance bay and let out a long whistle. "You've been working like fiends on that thing. It's a beauty."

Wrex straightened, pride squaring his shoulders as he strode past the shell of the new garage/ship bay. He never believed he'd find himself in a position to be grateful to the STG for their attack, but stretching the council between what they'd done and what they wanted known had allowed him to jump start the krogan rebuilding.

Looking up, he shaded his eyes and squinted against Aralakh's rays reflecting off their new transport as he turned the conversation back around to Gatatog. "Uvenk showed up this morning and demanded a meeting." Wrex hawked and spat onto the sizzling tarmac. "Weyrloc and the other clans with Blood Pack ties are moving in, trying to force him into an alliance. Uvenk might be a traditionalist windbag, but he holds his honour tighter than his sphincter. He'd kill his entire clan himself before he threw in with the Blood Pack."

Quarn led the way up the ramp into the freighter. "If that's the case, and you pad the offer, you might just end up with a truly loyal ally." Twisting to look back, the commander shrugged. "Wouldn't that be a kick in the council's quad?"

Wrex took a breath to tell Quarn to mind his own damned business, but the commander changed the subject before he could wind up. "So, I plied my considerable charms and wrangled you a set of transparent aluminum cages installed for almost nothing. And the cargo bay is spray-coated so it's acid proof, and you can just hose the whole place down." He sighed. "I know, you're overwhelmed with gratitude." A wide grin met Wrex's low growl. "Don't worry about trying to hide it; I know you love me."

Their tour of the freighter turned into Wrex showing the commander around the complex, ending at the far end, where a third large courtyard had been turned into barracks and a training ground.

"She's not wasting any time, is she?" Quarn said, as he stopped to watch Urdnot Bakara taking on a juvenile klixen in one of the practice compounds.

Wrex rumbled low in his throat but one of agreement that time. Between the influence of Mellir, Samara, and Bakara, the females of the united clans had overwhelmingly voted to not only work on rebuilding the _gikgah_ into the grand complex it had been thousands of cycles before, they'd voted to train female warriors for both hunting and internal security. He wouldn't admit it, even under torture, but the _qadin_ who came forward to train as warriors had taken to it like varren on a blood trail. Bakara most of all.

"She went out on the last hunt, brought down two on her own." Wrex grunted and stabbed his chin toward the knife in her hand. "Wait until you see her with a shotgun, instead of that little thing."

The _qadin_ charged the klixen, feinted to miss its gouts of flame, then rolled past it to flip it on its back. Leaving it to right itself, she turned to the enclosure's gate and let herself out, tossing a leg of varren in before locking everything back up.

"And what did the shamans say?" Quarn asked, lifting a hand to return Bakara's wave.

"She took a krant of females into her Rite of Passage, including Mellir. Brought down the maw. First to have done it since my rite." He chuckled low, the sound broadcasting his affection and admiration for the two most troublesome females in his life. "The shamans didn't have much to say after that." A wide grin twisted his face, wry but proud. "Mellir ended that day with a handful of breeding requests, even as old as she is."

Quarn joined Wrex in his laughter. "The things I miss when I'm out being your errand _puer_." He sidled up to Wrex, making a face that Wrex supposed was meant to be beguiling, but looked mostly nauseated. "Put together a hunt. I've got three dozen soldiers up there spoiling to take on another thresher maw, and you do need to put the new transport through its paces."

"Clan leader!" Bakara called, striding over. She wore a set of flame red klixen shell armour, her uzluk replaced by a light scarf secured around her head. A quick nod and, "Commander," acknowledged Quarn before those gold eyes turned their predator's gaze on Wrex. "Clan leader, I wish to ask your permission to approach the shamans and ask for them to prepare the Rite of _Birinc Qan."_

Wrex's scowl deepened. "Have you spoken to your battle master?" The intense, bright spark that blazed in her eyes at the question made Wrex regret allowing Barl to be her battle master, and not for the first time. "Fine, we'll gather the shamans, Mellir, and the other clan leaders. If everyone agrees, I'll approve it."

"Thank you," she said, her voice tight and solemn, but then she turned and practically bolted across the compound. As much as Wrex dreaded the backlash of initiating a female past the rank of _qansiz_ , the hearts that thundered in her chest … none beat stronger or more gloriously krogan.

"Moving fast," Quarn said, his voice slanted toward warning.

"Krogan will sing songs of her one day," Wrex replied, nodding as if he hadn't heard that warning. "That day will be among the best and worst of my life."

"Krogan will sing songs of you one day—notably, the _cenazek_ around your pire—if you don't take it easy pushing through all this change." Quarn's mandible dropped. "Give the _qadin_ time to prove that they are able _qansiz_ before you push to blood them against krogan." He shrugged and turned to watch Bakara hurry toward the bridge. "It won't take as long as you think before your people can't remember a time when females weren't shooting their way through enemy clans. She won't let it."

Wrex muttered and spun on his toes, striding back through the compound, shoulders hunched beneath a weight he hadn't felt the moment before. "Enemy clans." His changes to the krogan way of life meant less conflict between clans, fewer border skirmishes and wars. Somehow he still needed allow his people to remain true to their hearts, to fight, and animals would not satisfy them forever.

"So, about that hunt?" Quarn ran up beside him. "How soon can we head out to kill a really big worm?"

"I can't take you hunting again," Wrex grumbled. "You're reckless, and if you get killed, the council will replace you with a commander less … ." He just let the sentence die, unwilling to pay Quarn the compliment.

"Less charming?" Quarn's brow plates rose toward his fringe. "Less attractive? Less strong, with less honour?" He preened, his step lifting. "A less commanding leader with a smaller heart, less noble in his pursuit of justice for the krogan." He nodded. "I understand the risk."

"Come on, I'll arrange a hunt for this afternoon ... invite Uvenk along. Maybe you'll both get eaten."

* * *

(A-N: Sorry for the wait, had a lot going on. Next chapter Jack just might be moving too fast as well. Thanks for your support of this story in its infancy. I hope it continues to entertain. )


	8. Chapter Eight - True Colours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack grinned, but nodded and gave his mentor's shoulder another squeeze. "I apologize, but I promise what I have to show you will be well worth the discomfort." When they reached the observation lounge and the doors opened, he wrapped a steadying hand around Bill's elbow. "The time has come to explain why I chose this spot to build our complex, and where all the tech we've been developing has come from."

**May 15, 2148 (3.5 years later)** **\- The Deseado Crater, Mars**

"Bill! Welcome to Mars." Jack hurried forward to take his partner's hand, shaking it firmly. "I trust your trip went smoothly?" The dark circles and hollowed out planes of the older man's face announced how thoroughly space travel hadn't agreed with him. 'Green around the gills', Jack's father had called it. Unwilling to risk public exposure of the new ships, Jack left Bill to make the trip in a standard, rotational gravity vessel.

"It was all I'd anticipated." The older man buttressed himself against the wall and let out a long sigh. "I think even Mars is spinning too quickly," he muttered, pressing his eyes closed.

Giving Bill a minute to stand on ground that remained still beneath his feet, Jack waited for his partner to push off the wall. "You okay?" When Bill nodded, Jack held out a hand, ushering him toward the elevator to the science complex. "If you feel ready to eat or need a drink, we can grab one in the cafeteria." He halted and turned back. "Or, if you need to lie down, I can take you up to your apartment. We don't need to rush things." Even though he really wanted to rush things. After years of work, he could finally show off all he'd accomplished with Ben and Eva's help.

"Lead on," Bill replied, taking a deep breath that strained the top button of his dress shirt.

A smile forced its way onto Jack's usually somber face, and he reached up to squeeze his mentor's shoulder. "I'm pleased that you came."

"That trip is the reason I've avoided it, but after your last proposal, I knew I needed to come myself." Bill stepped into the elevator and sagged against the railing on the back wall. "Strange how someone asking you for a ten billion dollar transfer to their division can overcome your distaste for travelling through space inside a tumble dryer."

Jack grinned, but nodded and gave his mentor's shoulder another squeeze. "I apologize, but I promise what I have to show you will be well worth the discomfort." When they reached the observation lounge and the doors opened, he wrapped a steadying hand around Bill's elbow. "The time has come to explain why I chose this spot to build our complex, and where all the tech we've been developing has come from."

An expression of mock surprise settled uneasily on the CEO's face. "You mean you didn't just hire all these geniuses to create wonders from their imaginations?"

"From my imagination," Jack corrected, "yes, but even there, all my ideas are based on reality rather than pure imagination … a combination of ancient and future reality." Jack laughed, the sound dry and bitter as it scraped over his tongue. "As mad as that sounds."

Holding up a hand, he begged his old friend's indulgence and led Bill to the large bank of windows. "This entire complex is built over top of another complex, one that is fifty thousand years old and belonged to an alien species." A sharp smile met the older man's reaction, Bill's face moving through a slow slide of expression that started off calling Jack a liar then easing into shock before morphing into acceptance, and finally taking root in curiosity.

"An alien species from fifty thousand years ago?" The CEO pressed against the window. "So that is your ancient reality?" He gestured toward the elevator. "Is that how we get down there?" He edged along the windows, his eyes riveted to the spires of technology that made up the Prothean archives. "Fifty thousand years," he whispered, a soft susurrus of awe. "What were they doing here? Ships still here but not enough to be military. A computer core or database … or both. This was some sort of outpost. No sign of mining or resource gathering equipment, so scientific? They were watching our development, maybe?"

A crooked grin met Bill's thought process. "Yes, a science base dedicated to monitoring and perhaps even enhancing human development," Jack said without taking his eyes off his partner. So far, Bill's process seemed set on figuring it all out, organizing, compartmentalizing, all of which boded well for the rest of the reveal. Still, for all the casual relaxation he worked to project, every nerve in Jack's body remained wound tight enough to start sinking a knife between his shoulder blades.

Bill stared at the Prothean archive for another few seconds before turning to pin Jack with a knowing stare. "So tell me about the future reality." Rather than set Jack on edge, the older man's 'just come clean with me' expression helped calm any qualms he'd possessed about finally bringing Bill into the loop. Jack never doubted Ben and Eva's trustworthiness and discretion. Both harboured vast stores of of self-interest and greed easily fed with discovery and profit.

Bill, however … Bill equated to something else altogether, something far less easy to predict or control.

"I've never seen a man demonstrate such keen instincts in business," Interplanetary Expeditions' CEO said, the words boulders in a rock slide that chased Jack further and further down the slope of full disclosure. "Every move you've made has hit the mark dead center. You've turned my company into a world leader in cutting edge technology, transportation, and weaponry." Bill held out a hand, but Jack didn't fool himself into believing it an invitation. "By all means, lead on, you can explain while we walk."

Jack led the way into the decontamination gauntlet, explaining the process and helping Bill with his disposable suit. "Although our scans show no airborne toxins or microbial contaminants present, we're remaining vigilant to prevent the possibility of contaminants being carried in or out," he explained as they stepped through the final ultraviolet decon field.

Bill nodded and set a strong pace around the spiral catwalk that surrounded the archives, following Jack's lead without saying anything. An old ploy, it left Jack certain of Bill's inexhaustible patience. His mentor wouldn't be deflected until Jack laid out the truth.

Shoulders squaring ever so slightly, Jack drew in a deep breath and plunged. "That day in your office, the day you offered me this position, I appeared disoriented?"

His mentor nodded. "I recall it very well. That day, one version of Jack Harper came to work and entered our meeting. He glazed over a little, and when he snapped out of it, a completely different man turned to look at me." Bill stopped overlooking the smaller of the two ships, the corvette. "I'm not complaining, but I am curious what happened in those moments."

"I vaguely remember walking into that meeting and listening to your proposal, but the memory doesn't originate from that day." Jack cleared his throat. "My memories diverge at the point I got up to look out the window. I don't know how to explain what is inside my head, but I have memories of two different lives." He met the other man's dark blue stare. "In the first one, I turned down your offer and stayed on Earth. Like everyone else, I watched people discover this place on the news. Humanity spread out into the stars, built colonies and space stations out there. Then they opened a gateway to a new part of space and met an alien species. They were at war within moments."

Jack braced his hands against the railing and leaned over, arms rigid against his sides, shoulders pulled up. "I accepted your offer to run the division on one of those other colonies, Shanxi. It was the first one the aliens hit." He pulled in a long breath, the effort worthy of trying to inflate his lungs a kilometre underwater. "Pat and the girls were killed in the first wave of the attack. Stray bomb."

Bill turned to face Jack, crossing his arms over his generous belly, but didn't speak. Remaining as inscrutable as his silence, the CEO's gaze revealed nothing, leaving Jack to dig deep into the Illusive Man's wealth of self-assurance. The breach across the years felt longer and further than he'd expected, but he found his voice and spun the abridged version of his story. Bill stared at him long enough that he began to worry that his old friend was trying to figure out how to deal with one of IPE's partners being interred in a mental hospital.

"You're killing me here, Bill," he said at last.

The other man laughed, the grating hyena call easing back Jack's growing concern even as it stabbed into his ears. If Bill reacted poorly … well, Jack hated to think what he'd need to do to maintain control of the Mars site. A buy out wasn't an option. He'd leveraged everything he owned gambling on the site paying off, and it was, just not for him. Not yet.

The way Bill watched him felt like a deep scan, and he wondered if the older man had learned enough about the new Jack over the years to guess what crossing him would mean. Jack's gut clenched like a fist at that thought. If he needed to move against Bill, he wanted to do it without his mentor realizing it was coming. He didn't want any inkling of betrayal to register, as it would pain an old and dear friend. No, if it came down to removing Bill, the strike needed to hit fast, painless, and from the shadows.

"Talk to me about government inspections," Bill said, the query surprising Jack, but confirming his suspicions. "There's no way you could slip all of this beneath their radar, so the two inspectors who have died or disappeared over the years …."

"Mars is a dangerous place," Jack said, turning away from the view to lead the way down to the excavation floor. "Neither of them died within this dome, nor while leaving it. One died in a tragic shuttle accident, and the other was a victim of faulty decon back at the Chinese dome."

Bill chuckled again, lowering the hyena laugh from head-splitting to high-pitched. "I give you far too much credit for discretion to harbour any concern that their deaths would or could be traced back to our doorstep." Their footsteps ringing off the metal grating filled the silence until they stepped down onto the Martian bedrock. Jack's mentor strode over to the corvette, now completely uncovered and turned into a lab. He pressed his hand against the hull and glanced over his shoulder to grin at Jack. "And you made me fly here in a tumble-dryer."

"The new ships have artificial gravity, but I couldn't risk sending one into Earth-controlled space." Jack shrugged, his expression firmly belying his words as he said, "Sorry about that." Not to mention that he'd yet to buy his way deeply enough into Mars Air-traffic Control to risk more than essential exposure.

"So," the CEO continued after a moment, all traces of joking disappearing behind the mask of the man who'd build a hardware store into a multi-planetary corporation, "show me everything, Jack. We need to govern the flow of information very, very carefully."

Jack grinned and nodded. "Today and tomorrow, I'll show you around the labs, then when you're ready to hit space again, I'll take you out to Pluto and show you what I need your money to uncover. We have a hell of a lot of work to do, my old friend, and we've got to get it all done before the idiots in the government get there first and screw it up."

Bill turned a faint green. "You're not going to take me out there in one of the … ." The sentence died out as if even the thought of travelling in a rotational gravity vessel proved too much for his constitution.

Jack chuckled and clapped his old friend on the back. "Don't worry, we'll take one of the new frigates. Artificial gravity. First class all the way."

* * *

**June 3, 2148**

Jack stood in the large, forward port, an arm around two of his three treasures, the bulk of Charon filling the view. Crouching, he pressed a kiss to the cheeks to either side. "What do you think?"

His girls turned to him, their eyes filled with wonder. Rachel, as always, scowled a little, preparing what she wanted to say, intense and well-spoken, especially for ten. He brushed her cheek with his thumb. Damn, but weren't the years getting away from him?

"What is it, Daddy? Our teacher said Charon's a moon." Leaving the circle of his arms, his daughter walked over to press her palms against the port. "But, what's that beneath the ice?" When he didn't answer, she turned to him, pine-green eyes narrowing in thought. "Is it the same technology as the archives and ships on Mars?"

Jack grinned, pride making his ribcage feel too tight around his organs. "It's not, but that's an excellent guess. The relay was built by a race far older than the Protheans."

"Holy Father, protect and preserve me." Patricia whispered from her seat just behind him. "That machine is theirs."

When he turned to look at her, Jack saw fear in his wife's eyes, something he couldn't recall seeing. At least, not in a very long time. He understood. Even still, as he sat in his office, planning late into the night, sometimes the spectre of Reapers pressed in on him with enough weight to crush the air and warmth from his body. On rarer days, in deeper hours of the night, he wished it all away … wished to simply turn his back and walk away, to crawl in next to his wife and just sleep.

But, it could never infect their children. He refused to raise them in fear. Leaving Megan to join her sister at the port, he straightened and walked over to sit next to his wife and son. He grinned at Matthew—the four-year-old bouncing obliviously on his mother's knee—before looking to Patricia.

"It's all very big and terrifying suddenly, isn't it?" he asked, pressing his cheek to hers and whispering so the girls wouldn't hear him. "But it's all just machinery, and we're out here a year early, and decades more prepared than we were." He kissed the shell of her ear, then pulled back to give her a bracing, firm smile. "It's a wonder, isn't it, love?" he asked, reaching up to caress her cheek with his palm.

He saw understanding replace the fear in Patricia's eyes, and she nodded. "It is indeed. A wonder that will propel us through the stars, opening the entire galaxy before us." She kissed Matthew's cheek. "What do you think, big Matt?"

The boy giggled and threw his arms around her neck. "Pretty lights, Mommy."

Jack kissed his son's round cheek, his heart swelling too big for his chest once more. "They sure are, little man." He tickled just beneath Matthew's chin, then looked up as the observation lab door whispered open.

Bill stepped through, looking far more hale for lack of spinning through space, and headed directly to the view-port. The CEO let out a short, heavy sigh and shook his head. "All these millennia, we've believed our solar system a closed unit, the vast in-between forming an almost impregnable wall and yet, we've had a door here the entire time, just waiting to let us out." He laid a hand on Rachel and Megan's heads. "You two are going to be the first to stride out among the stars."

Rachel looked up at the older man, her face heartbreakingly earnest as she nodded. "Daddy says we need to be ready to show the rest of humanity the way."

Bill laughed, which set Patricia and the children laughing as well. "And Earth couldn't have a more lovely pair of ambassadors."

They sat talking for a time before Patricia excused herself and the children, leaving Jack and Bill to stare out at the wonder being carved from the ice and cosmic effluvia.

"You'll have your money, Jack," Bill said, sitting on the couch, but staring out the port at the glimmering light of industrial lasers. "Do you have an engineering team set to get it up and running?"

Relief flushed through Jack from head to toe, leaving him feeling a little dizzy. It would all happen. Everything he'd spent the last six years working toward sat right outside that port. "We have a team inside the relay, mapping the interior and systems," he replied. He pointed to a couple of very large ships parked dead center in the port. "We can't activate the interior power systems in the relay until we get it completely uncovered, so we're running the start up team's equipment off the first of our colony ships."

Bill stood and walked closer. Activating the small control panel next to the viewport, he selected the area around the colony ship and zoomed in. A long ship with a wide beam took up the view. It's dorsal surface gleamed a dark blue-black. "Solar collectors! It's self-contained?"

Jack leaned back and crossed his legs at the knee. "Yes. Supporting a hundred settlers, it runs all internal electrical systems off solar collectors, has eighty-five percent water and waste recycling and reclamation, and a purification plant that can be adapted for surface water or a well. Its median cargo bay is also a modular hydroponic garden." He shrugged, a less than modest shrug for a design born of his genius. "These ships are everything our people need to get them to a planet and keep them alive for at least five years. Plenty long enough to erect a permanent settlement."

Bill returned the view to Charon. "You're handing IPE a monopoly in colonization for at least five years, Jack. Even when other companies catch up, we'll be the trusted brand." He turned and leaned back against the port, his arms crossed over the lapels of his very expensive suit. "You know where other relays are? Which ones to avoid? What systems have planets that can support life?"

"Yes," Jack answered, deciding to keep it simple. "When we're prepared, we'll go to the Assembly of Nations and make a presentation, offer them free access to the archives on Mars, maps, survey data … everything they need. In a thousand years, when people speak of humanity's leap into the stars, IPE will be the force that took them there." Standing, he strode over to the bar along the aft bulkhead and poured them both a bourbon.

Returning, he passed one of the glasses to Bill, then raised his own. "To taking our people to the stars."

Bill clinked his glass off Jack's. "To taking our people to the stars."

* * *

 **CPF** \- Chinese People's Federation

 **UNAS** \- United North American States

 **AoN** \- Assembly of Nations

**November 1, 2148 (5 months later) 1100 hours**

"We did it, Jack," Bill Acker reported, his head and shoulders filling the vid-conference screen.

The older man's animation—wide face grinning, jowls trembling with excitement—told Jack everything he needed to know about the AoN Extra-planetary Resource Committee's rulings. Excellent. He swallowed the heady taste of victory and schooled his expression down to interested, but not over-eager as he waited for Bill to continue.

"The AoN ratified our claim to all resources and artefacts stemming from our development of Charon." He laughed, shaking his head. "You should have seen the CPF senators. I thought Uong was going to turn inside out. I've never seen anyone's face turn that red. The CPF is convinced that UNAS is trying to colonize the entire solar system before they can."

Jack chuckled as his imagination offered up the CPF's lead senator's face as she heard the ruling. Not twenty-four hours ago, Uong had accused him of arranging her predecessor's assassination and the resulting scandal that had implicated two of her most powerful peers. "I imagine that the scandal arising from Senator Zoeng-Watts's assassination kept them somewhat more circumspect than they would have been otherwise?"

Bill's face stiffened, all humour dropping away like sloughing paint. "Senator Uong is scared to death that she's next if she doesn't tread carefully. And as much as she claims UNAS operatives took Zoeng-Watts out, she's certainly not turning her back on her own people." Bill shuffled datapads on his desk. "I finally managed to schedule a vid-conference with the UNAS energy commission and the Luna Development Foundation later this week to propose the two new Mare Crisium H3 plants."

"Excellent." Jack watched Bill's expression, wondering if his partner had changed the subject from the CPF senator's assassination because he suspected just how deep Jack's machinations infiltrated and influenced planetary politics. However, if the older man did suspect Jack's hand moving behind the invisible curtain of assassination, scandal, and bribery, he kept it well hidden.

"The ratification of our claim is excellent news, Bill. Thanks for letting me know personally." Jack glanced up as knuckles rapped against his office door. "I've got a meeting with Anita Goyle and Donnel Udina, so I've got to go. I'll call you back in a few hours, and we can go over the reports out of the weapons and ag divisions."

"Later, and Jack ... congratulations." Bill took a sharp, deep breath. "One step closer."

"One step closer." Jack closed the communication and looked up. He took a deep breath and smoothed the front of his suit before calling, "Come in."

His assistant opened the door, peering through. "Anita Goyle and Donnel Udina are here to see you." Her smile looked starched on and stretched tight, no doubt from dealing with his guests.

"Thank you, Noel. Show them in please." He stood as the two politicians brushed past Noel and entered his office. "Governor Goyle, Representative Udina, welcome. Please come in, and make yourselves comfortable." He shook the woman's hand first, a pleased smile meeting her firm, almost painful grip. Udina's he remembered well despite the yawning canyon of years. "Please, take a seat." He returned to the other side of his desk and sat, leaving a light silence between them as the two took their seats.

Once they had trained their attention back on him, he met their gazes with solid eye contact. "Did you enjoy your trip? Have you visited Mars previously?"

"The trip was comfortable enough," Udina said, tugging on his trouser legs and shifting back further into his chair. "I've never flown on a vessel with artificial gravity." He cleared his throat. "I wasn't aware that such technology was even available." He slanted his words to come across suspicious, swords that struck without nearly as much bite as his cologne. While Jack knew the AoN representative to be an able legislator, his tendency toward suspicion could prove problematic.

"The frigate that brought you here is a top secret prototype, which is why you were required to sign nondisclosure agreements before boarding our shuttle." Jack leaned back and looked over at Goyle. "And your trip?"

"As pleasant and impressive as it was intended to be, I'm certain," the more senior politician replied. "As is this compound." She bent to lean a slim briefcase against her chair, then crossed her legs primly at the knee, her hands folded on the knife-edge crease in her slacks: a pose as effective as it was elegant. Jack clamped his jaw down on his smile.

Goyle would do nicely.

Once sorted, Goyle released a sharp breath. "Mr. Harper, you have a reputation for being many things. Since none of those include hospitality manager, how about we cut to the chase, and you tell me why I signed a piece of paper that threatened my family's financial stability before boarding your ship."

Jack smiled, allowing it to colour the silence that settled between them. He leaned back into the corner of his chair and folded one knee over the other, using casual arrogance to steal a little of Goyle's impetus. She wanted the upper hand, but for their partnership to work, he could never allow her to get it … occasionally believe she'd gotten it, certainly … just never in truth.

Measured and calculated, his smile broadened, preparing to come right out with the truth and see which way the apple cart tipped. They'd agreed to face being taken to court if they disclosed what they saw or heard, but he suspected that they both knew infractions would never see the inside of a courtroom, and the consequences to their families would prove far more final than bankruptcy.

And, in the end, their reaction to the whole truth could tell him a great deal about what to expect. In his other life, both of them had been among the first to sign up and head out into the stars. Hopefully, he could count on that zeal, even if he needed it to manifest on a significantly accelerated time table.

Udina shifted, his eyes darting toward the door. Time to lay it all out … well, within reason, of course.

Jack nodded. "Six years ago, I discovered something remarkable beneath the Martian surface, about fifty metres below where you're sitting, Governor … Representative. Within the next eighteen months, that discovery is going to propel humanity out of our tiny solar system and into a galaxy so much larger than you can imagine." He let the smile settle into a firmer stare, one that left no room for doubt. Still, Udina gave a small, disbelieving chortle, that met with an iron-pointed glare from Goyle.

Jack unfolded and stood, walking to the window that overlooked the spaceport. "The prototype you flew in on and several others will transport us out into a wider community of life. We're going to meet other races of beings, not all of whom will be glad to meet us." He turned to face them, one corner of his mouth twitching into a smile before he could lock it down when he saw Goyle leaning forward, her arms crossed over her knee. Udina just kept looking back and forth between them as if trying to figure out why Goyle wasn't calling bullshit.

Returning to his desk, Jack sat on one corner and leaned in, cozying up the space, drawing them into the secret. "In order to ensure humanity's peaceful introduction to a galactic community, I need to assemble a first contact team of ambassadors, economists, linguists, and intellectuals. This team will be hand-picked from the very best in their fields. This mission is one that cannot tolerate even the smallest miscalculations."

He paused, watching their micro-expressions. Neither bothered to hide their skepticism, but beneath Goyle's, he saw the bright gleam of a longing for adventure and discovery, and beneath Udina's the sharp spark of ambition.

Excellent. Both would prove moldable.

Before either could speak, Jack stood. "That's why I asked you here … my first recruits."

"Recruits?" Udina thrust himself up out of his chair and stepped forward, crowding in on Goyle to face off with Jack, who met his anticipated ire with equanimity. "What are you playing at, Harper? The governor and I are busy people, and you are wasting our time—"

"Representative Udina," Goyle said, her words a guillotine despite her even tone and carefully modulated volume, "please, sit down. I'm sure Mr. Harper has not called us here to merely titillate our imaginations with science fiction." She looked up, her posture withdrawing back into regal reticence. "Have you, Mr. Harper?"

"I have not." He held an arm out toward his office door. "I'd be more than happy to give you the tour." A smile formed of ice chips and a cocked eyebrow met the challenge stabbing him through Udina's glare. "After you, Representative."

* * *

(A-N: wanders through singing ... I see your true colours shining through ... I see your true colours and that's why I love you ... so don't be afraid ... Thank you Cyndie Lauper. So, here we have at last, the shape of things to come. Well, unless it all goes to hell. :D Mwahahahahahaha ... ahem. *shifty eyes and hand wave* You did not hear that evil laugh. Thanks as always gorgeous people for reading, and reviewing. Dang, hearing from you makes my day!)


	9. Chapter Nine - Bonding Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samara waited for Wrex at the bridge. "I have discovered where Morinth is hiding," she said simply, finding her voice as he stepped up to walk at her side. "She has no further need to hide away on Tuchanka: grown powerful, confident, and careful enough to move on to more hospitable hunting grounds." The justicar rolled her shoulders, her body language broadcasting both desire and dread as the end of her mission loomed within reach.

**1895 CE Gikgah of Niraxahk (30 years later)**

Wrex stared into the fire pit, his mind stalking several trails at once. The flames that roared a couple of metres into the air hours before, licked the coals with tongues of purple and blue. As he watched their dance, his mind wandered back over the clan meeting he'd adjourned a short time before. A thin smile twisted one corner of his mouth. Overwhelming approval for his plan. It was unprecedented enough to make his shotgun hand twitchy.

Silent as a spirit, Samara appeared out of the darkness to sit at his side. Neither spoke, not needing to after so many cycles. After fifteen minutes or so, Wrex got the feeling she needed to speak to him about something … something her reserved pride made difficult to get past her lips. In response, he merely took a long, deep breath and slipped a little lower on the bench. She'd speak when she spoke.

The fire drew him back, slowing his thoughts and pulling them back to the meeting and the dread prompted by the clan council's approval for the revamping of _Birinc Qan_ , the rite of first blood. Of course, the … what was the human expression Shepard used … writing couldn't have been scrawled more clearly across the wall. With so many of the clans united or allied, the last full on war had ended nearly a decade before, and skirmishes had dwindled down to a handful a year. No, with so many krogan living closely together, and in peace, they needed to find a way for their people to remain true to their krogan nature.

His smile grew into a resigned sort of grimace. Bakara came up with the answer, of course. His most problematic _qadin_ , also proved his best source of inspired ideas.

"Judging by the mean-spirited grin on your face, they agreed to the ritual combat idea?"

Wrex looked up at Quarn. "Your had better be loaded down with alcohol, or I'll feed you to the pyjaks." He chuckled when the CDEM commander produced two bottles, tossing one to him. The clan chief snatched the liquor out of the air, read the label, then nodded toward the bench next to his. "The good stuff. I'd be impressed if I didn't know it's just to save your delicate belly."

Just as silently as she'd arrived, Samara stood and disappeared back into the darkness. Wrex knew she wouldn't go far, her unspoken words still needing to find their voice.

Quarn thumped down onto the bench and leaned back, lifting his feet up onto the low wall around the fire pit. "What can I say? I lost three days the last time you supplied the drinks, and I need all my remaining brain cells." He let out a sigh, thick and heavy. "Long, _tarc_ -riddled week."

Wrex frowned, leaning back into the corner between the bench's stone arm and back. "What's going on out there?" He hated to think how blind the krogan had been on Tuchanka before Quarn. The next thing they needed to get approval for and purchase as a planetary communication network, if only to be able to hear what went on in the greater galaxy.

Quarn shook his head. "There's nothing solid, but there are rumours flying out of the Perseus Veil about the quarians." He shifted around a little, then lifted his bottle, tearing off the seal and tossing it into the fire. "The Council is in an uproar," he continued, unscrewing the cap, "and the quarians have withdrawn most of their ambassadorial staff."

Wrex shoved himself upright, both hearts pounding hard and fast in his chest. "The geth. They're fighting back." _Rahat_ , he'd completely forgotten over the last half century.

Quarn nodded and cocked a brow plate. "Yeah, that's the rumour. Something about the VI's becoming sapient. The quarians panicked, and now they're fighting." The commander took a long swallow of his brandy. "That's the rumour, anyway."

Wrex jumped up, and paced along the back side of the fire. He'd thought of warning the quarians, but knew they'd never believe him. A lone krogan calls up to warn them that their perfectly docile VI servants are going to transition to full AI. That would be an interesting, and very short, conversation.

"It'll be over within the cycle," he said, outloud, but to himself. Not much time to act, if he intended to do something. Did he intend to do something? If he interfered on the side of the quarians, would it boost the krogan position with the council or dump it straight down the crapper? He cursed under his breath. He'd spent too much time with his head shoved up his cloaca.

"You predict the future now?" Quarn asked, pulling Wrex from his useless internal debate. He dumped an eighth of his bottle down his throat. He let out a hearty belch, then shrugged. "Then again, being able to see the future would explain a great deal about you." Dropping his feet off the fire pit wall, he sat up, digging his elbows into his thighs. "What do you know about the geth and the quarians that the rest of the galaxy doesn't?"

Wrex waved away Quarn's ridiculous rambling … accurate ridiculous rambling, but still ridiculous. Instead, he set back into his pacing and debate. "The quarians underestimate the geth: their group intelligence, their ability to learn and to fight." A half burp, half chuff escaped to echo through the courtyard. "More than that, they underestimate how quickly and viciously the geth will adapt in order to survive." Wrex paced a full circuit of the fire pit a couple of times, his mind whirling.

He couldn't save Rannoch, and knowing what Shepard had told him about the truth behind the war, he didn't really want to. The lot of the geth and the krogan weren't so different. Uplifted, used, and abandoned. Anyway, setting aside the self-pity …. The geth would stop once they'd driven the quarians off Rannoch and their other colonies.

Their other colonies. He sat next to Quarn, the turian complaining as he was pressed into the arm, but he silenced himself with a drink.

"What resources do you command that can fight in space?" Wrex demanded.

"Not many." He turned and shoved Wrex over a half inch. "Spirits, either make your move, or give me room to breathe." A muttered tirade followed before Quarn answered with specifics. "A couple of frigates with missile and mass effect cannons. A cruiser with two dozen fighters." His mandibles flicked as he looked up, meeting Wrex's eyes. "What? You going to kill me, go rogue?"

Wrex laughed, two short, sharp sounds. "You aren't that lucky. I think I have an idea to turn us both into heroes, and give my people something to fight as the shamans figure out the new _Birinc Qan_."

Quarn's mandibles spread while his face folded in towards his nose more than Wrex would have thought possible, the expression making the commander look like a vicious insect. "You want to fight the geth? Didn't you just say that everyone underestimates their will to survive and their ability to fight?"

Wrex slapped the turian—his best friend—on the back. "Everyone does. I don't. I know their capabilities three hundred cycles from now. Right now, surprise and quarian arrogance are the geth's biggest advantage." He grinned down at Quarn. "Don't you want to retire after doing something crazy and heroic?"

Quarn pulled back. "Retire? I'm not retiring. I'm sixty-three cycles old. I've got a good sixty or so cycles left before I even think about retiring." He let out a loud, disgusting raspberry, then spat into the fire. "Although, if you have your way, I'll end up heroically dead long before that."

"We need better intel," Wrex said, ignoring the muttered diatribe that continued next to him. "Lean on whatever sources you can. We need information if we're going to make any moves. I'll ask Samara to do the same."

Speaking of the justicar—perhaps announcing her presence when she heard her name—a shadow moved just at the edge of the firelight, a soft flutter of light against shadow to capture his attention. As much time as she spent within the _gikgah_ , teaching the pups and youngsters, Samara held herself aloof, never spending any time at the fire or socializing even during meals. It might have been construed as arrogance if someone didn't know her past, but Wrex guessed that the distance had more to do with punishing herself. She felt as if she didn't deserve rest or companionship until she completed her mission.

Whatever drew her back before Quarn retired for the evening must truly gnaw at her.

Wrex thumped Quarn on the shoulder. "I'll be right back. Don't get yourself killed while I'm gone."

Quarn didn't bother to answer as Wrex followed Samara into the night. Instead the _torin_ kicked his feet up on the side of the fire pit again and stretched out, his bottle resting on his belly.

Samara waited for Wrex at the bridge. "I have discovered where Morinth is hiding," she said simply, finding her voice as he stepped up to walk at her side. "She has no further need to hide away on Tuchanka: grown powerful, confident, and careful enough to move on to more hospitable hunting grounds." The justicar rolled her shoulders, her body language broadcasting both desire and dread as the end of her mission loomed within reach.

"Her small band of thralls pack to leave within the week," she continued, "as soon as the Blood Pack's search for their stolen yacht moves away from her territory."

"And you know where she is?" Wrex nodded when Samara hummed to the affirmative. "Then, attack swiftly and strike to kill."

While Samara smiled and gave him a graceful nod in answer to the ancient blessing, she stepped toward him. "I would appreciate your assistance in this."

He stared into the big, blue eyes, seeing something lurking behind the resolve and discipline ... beyond the will of iron. "You don't need my help. You're the strongest warrior I've known but for one." He cleared his throat and wiped Shepard from his thoughts. A loved sister that may or may not have existed, and may or may not exist in another three centuries had no place loitering inside his skull.

"Perhaps I do not require your assistance," Samara allowed, drawing herself as straight and brittle as iron. Had he missed something? Females … he'd never understand them. A moment later, she softened, one hand drifting toward his shoulder before falling back. "However, I desire it." She clasped her hands behind her back, and tilted her chin up. "I'm asking if you will accompany me to kill Morinth."

Wrex nodded, the decision easily made. He didn't spend enough time outside the camp, a shotgun heavy and deadly in his hands, and the justicar had more than earned the right to ask him for any number of favours. "When do you want to leave?" Leaving the camp for a couple of days meant organizing an entire pile of _rahat_ beforehand, a considerable downside.

"First light? It will give us time to fly as close as I dare and walk the rest of the way in, reaching her camp after dark." Her stare and posture didn't waiver a centimetre until he nodded.

"Meet you at the spaceport at dawn." He turned away without any further preamble, returning to Quarn. "Pyjak! I need a favour." He grinned when only snores answered him. Nothing gave him quite as much pleasure as shaking Decan Quarn's tree.

**1895 CE The Pass of Rakikz (17 hours later)**

Aralakh hung heavy over the horizon, fat and bright, casting their shadows metres to their left side. Heat rose from the sand and stone in waves, shimmering until Wrex's entire field of vision shifted in perpetual motion. It caused him little distress, being used to the heat and dry, almost corrosive, air, but even a handful of decades hadn't acclimatized Samara to the conditions.

Glancing over at her, he felt a strong surge of warmth and respect flare through him. Her exposed skin, which in her justicar armour was plentiful, had burned, her face flushed and lips chapped, yet she never slowed, never allowed a single sign of weakness to show. Still, he needed her to get to the end of the road ready to do battle with an ardat yakshi—her daughter—and that would mean more than physical strength.

"Justicar," he called, "if we take this side path, I smell a pack of varren patrolling the edge of Morinth's territory."

A disgusted sound broke from her throat, cracked and dry. "Living off Morinth's carion." She paused, digging into her belt pack. Withdrawing a bottle of water, she drained half in a couple of swallows. "I'm fit to push through," she said, "but we have an hour of daylight remaining and only another kilometre or so to Morinth's camp."

Wrex smothered the grin her pride prompted, clearing his throat to cover his amusement. "I could use some fresh meat," he said, his belly growling on cue. "It won't slow us down more than a few minutes."

After another drink, Samara nodded and gestured for him to lead the way. If she suspected why he suggested the detour, she showed no sign. Good thing. He'd rather tongue kiss his ugly, one-eyed, great uncle Gorl than deal with the awkwardness of that conversation. Early on, he and Shepard had come to an agreement on taking care of one another. They'd allow it as long as neither one mentioned it. Ever. It worked.

With the wind blowing into Wrex and Samara's faces, the varren pack didn't scent their approach, and they made it close enough to see them tearing a krogan carcass out of a set of Blood Pack armour. No huge loss there. Wrex stepped aside, letting Samara take point before he followed, shotgun in hand.

By the time the second varren went down, she looked better: standing straighter, her skin less burned and flaking. Then, when the last fell, she nearly hummed with power. He could feel it around her, not anything physical, but a very real manifestation nonetheless. It stirred his blood, calling to the fire he kept caged in order to lead his people. Backing away, he crushed that reaction underfoot. He stepped around her and drew his sikah and crouched by the side of the closest one. A few, practiced slices and he held the varren's warm heart in his hand. When he held it out to her, she surprised him, taking it from his hand without demurring at all. He chuckled, low and throaty, maybe the decades of living with the krogan had taken hold after all.

He cut out three for himself, eating them in two bites with a great deal less delicacy than Samara. As he ate, he watched the sky, enjoying the deep blues and washes of colour nearer the horizon. Although Tuchanka's atmosphere had been clear of dust and ash from their nuclear war for millennia, down nearer Urdnot, the wind stirred the sand and rubble with its heavy, restless breath, blocking the sky most days. Blue sky remained a rare treat primarily restricted to the mountains.

He stopped eating when his belly ceased complaining for both food and water. The blood in the raw hearts slaked his thirst enough that he saved his water for after the fight. After washing his hands in sand, he stood and shrugged his assault rifle back into his grip.

"Ready?" He kicked the sand around and dragged carcasses over where they'd stood to confuse the scent. The last thing they needed was a pack of varren or worse attacking them from behind.

"Yes, thank you," Samara replied, putting away her water bottle. She copied him by scrubbing her gloves with sand, then set out, assault rifle in hand. She set a pace that left him no doubt that she held a keen awareness of how dangerous Tuchanka could be at night. Varren, klixen, and thresher maws weren't the only predators, not by a long shot. If they circled around it far enough, their kill site would buy them time and clear their path.

Wrex knew that stopping had been the right choice as he watched Samara move. The lift and surefooted swing had returned to her step. He shook his head, a wry smile twisting his mouth. In his days, he'd met few harder, more determined females. Despite her time supporting Urdnot, he knew she'd never wavered in her purpose, and he thanked the old gods that he'd never fallen between her and her target.

The sun disappeared behind the mountains, its faint light keeping the sky a muddy sort of navy rather than falling all the way to black. Samara slowed, picking her way without a light until true darkness fell, the cloudless night devouring the light. She finally stopped and crouched behind a large rock, silently pointing out Morinth's camp when Wrex took a knee next to her. The ardat yakshi had taken refuge in an old harvester lair, which meant good clearance and at least one other entrance.

The clan chief dug into his pack, pulling out a night vision scope to check for sentries. As he suspected, several krogan hunkered down amidst the rock both above and below the cave entrance. Taking note of their positions, he passed Samara the scope. When she lowered it, he signalled his intention to make his way down, taking out the few guards along his path, then loop around the base, searching out the cave's back entrance. He asked her to give him an hour's head start, and she nodded, settling in.

Shotgun nestled in the small of his back, Wrex drew his _sikah_ and crept down the mountain's shoulder. The sentries went down easily enough that he began to suspect Morinth of housecleaning in preparation for her move. She'd want a few of the most useful of her thralls to accompany her, but she'd ensnared more followers than he suspected. Bullet sponges, no doubt … just in case the Blood Pack came looking for their missing yacht and members.

Taking considerable pride in his stealthiness, Wrex took down five sentries before reaching the canyon floor and pausing to check his scope. He spotted only one sentry to his right, the bulk of them spread out along the slope to the left. Keeping low but quick, he crept between the boulders and massive rock deposited from frequent landslides. Threshers made for a volatile landscape. Passing the cave entrance, he paused to check for defenses. Four guards, but no tech as far as he could tell. He'd radio that intel to Samara as soon as he could risk the noise.

A half hour later, he spotted the back entrance and grinned, the slightly vicious grin of the predator who knows his prey well. Six guards stood as silent and still as statues up the fifty metres of slope, all within sight of at least two others … at least during the day. In the darkness, he figured on being able to take half of them out before alerting any of the others. Samara would begin her attack any moment. He lifted the scope to his eye, but the shoulder of the mountain curved too much for him to see the other entrance. It wouldn't matter, even if the justicar didn't radio before she attacked, he'd know.

As it was, she pinged the radio twice to let him know she'd begun taking down sentries. Chuckling to himself, Wrex climbed the slope, moving in on the first of the guards watching that flank. Sneaking up from behind, Wrex grabbed just under their chin, disabling their larynx and severing the major arteries to the lungs and brain with one deep, massive slice. In under a minute each went down, moments from death.

He had his fourth in hand before the fifth spotted him and charged, calling an alert to the last. Not wanting to cause a major disturbance in case Samara hadn't reached the cave, Wrex slashed, nearly severing the krogan's head from his body. Dropping the body, he charged the fifth guard. Armour impacted with the crack of thunder, the clan chief bearing the youngster to the ground. Stabbing straight down through the gaps in the guard's crest, he buried his _sikah_ between the lobes of the krogan's brain, then sliced front to back.

The sixth. Yanking his dagger free, Wrex spun to face the sixth's attack, but just the empty slope awaited him. _Rahat!_ The guard had retreated inside to warn Morinth. Lungs sucking in long draughts of the cooling evening air, Wrex charged up the slope, the fire of battle setting his blood aflame.

Lights strung along the walls at floor level lit the tunnel inside the cave entrance, making it easy to follow the guard through the winding passage. The sounds of battle, echoing in the distance spurred him on. Samara might be one hell of a warrior, but from what she'd told him, Morinth would take all of her concentration. She needed him to watch her flanks.

Catching sight of the guard ahead of him, Wrex tossed a warp, driving the krogan to the floor. Leaping on her … _rahat_ , a female … he wrapped an arm around her neck, pinching off the arteries to either side. The hold wouldn't put her down for longer than five minutes, but hopefully it would be long enough.

He held on for an extra minute after she stopped struggling, then pushed up and ran on.

"Finally found me, Mother?" Wrex winced at the venom laced through the ardat yakshi's tone. "It must burn that my people are so loyal that they died rather than lead you to your demon daughter."

The explosive boom of a warp being countered by a throw shook the tunnel floor under Wrex's feet, sending him stumbling into a wall smoothed from thousands of cycles of harvester plating.

"Don't call me your mother," Samara spat back, a rage born of heartbreak and disappointment poisoning the words. "You gave up that right when you turned your back on your father, sisters, and I, choosing the life of a mass murderer, preying on the weak and hopeless."

Laughter, sharper than his _sikah_ answered that charge. Wrex pushed harder. How much further in could they be? Their voices sounded as if they fought a few metres away.

"You mean when I refused to be imprisoned for the crime of being born special … powerful?" Another biotic detonation shook the tunnel, but the thunder of that one didn't trail off, instead, the brilliant blue lightshow of warring biotics blasted out through the entrance to the main cavern.

He ducked an errant throw that dug a fist-sized chunk of rock out of the wall. Another boom of impacting biotics shook the mountain, that one dropping a shower of dust on his head. By his ugly Aunt Raza's balls, as much as he wanted to let Samara fight her own battles, if he didn't put an end to their fight, they might just bring the entire place down around them. He ran over the threshold and stalled, booted claws catching in the rock.

Two warrior goddesses, the like of which once destroyed worlds in the ancient stories, stood locked in battle, each just barely holding the other at bay. Slowing, he circled them, keeping close to the wall as he searched for any threat other than Morinth. Nothing. Samara had cleared her own way.

"You brought three perfect daughters into the universe, Mother." 'Mother' fired across the metres separating the two, a missile that struck true. Samara staggered back a half step, Morinth stepping in to press the advantage. "And your idea of unconditional love and support was to send two to prison and hunt the other down. What sort of mother obsessively tracks her child for over a century, focused solely on killing her own flesh and blood?"

Samara pushed back with a warp and then a reave that merely drained some of the power from the barrier holding her at bay. "The sort who loves her daughters enough to do what is best for them and the people around them … " A sharp grunt of effort met a volley of throws from Morinth, the ardat yakshi's rage twisting both her face and her abilities into something ugly and terrifying. Samara staggered, nearly going down. "... even when it breaks her heart to do it."

"More like a bitch who smothered her own pups for the crime of outshining her."

Wrex winced even when Samara didn't. All right. Enough. His warp slammed into Morinth's unprotected flank, driving her to the ground. In a half-second, Samara leaped in, pinning her daughter to the stone floor with a hand around the ardat yakshi's throat.

"Find peace in the embrace of the Goddess, Mirala," Samara said, her voice warm, heavy with so much love that it painted the moment in sombre shades of surreal heartbreak. One biotically enhanced punch later, Morinth lay still, her head twisted on an ill-shaped neck.

Wrex let out a short roar of a sigh, staying back but watching Samara carefully. The asari remained crouched over her daughter, one hand braced against the corpse's chest, the other resting on her knee. After nearly a minute, the justicar reached out to close her daughter's eyes.

"I pray you find the peace in death that the cruelty of life denied you," Samara whispered. A single finger caressed the blue plane of a cheek. "I always loved you, more fiercely with every passing day. You were never an embarrassment or a regret." Deft fingers refastened a stay on the ardat yakshi's leathers. "I know you won't understand, but even my long pursuit stemmed from love. I couldn't bear to know how far your actions would drag you from the beautiful, clever daughter I knew." She lifted both hands from her daughter's body. "I will remember that daughter … my brave, lovely Mirala … and I will love you ,forever."

The sorrow … the raw regret in her voice drew Wrex forward a step, long cycles of friendship insisting he find some way to comfort that pain.

"You didn't need to step in." Samara pivoted away from the body and dropped to one knee, the fingers of both hands pressed to the cave floor. "It was my fight to finish."

"And you did." Wrex shrugged and closed the distance. "The hits she was landing weren't the kind anyone has shields against." He held out a hand, offering to help the justicar up. She took it, her grasp trembling but strong as she pulled herself to her feet. "You asked me to come … to stand at your side and guard your back. I did, just as you have guarded mine in the past."

Samara remained close, only a finger's width separating them, as she stared into his eyes. "Thank you, Urdnot Wrex." She shook her head, cutting him off when he tried to answer. "Not just for coming with me today, but for allowing me to find a purpose other than death over these cycles with your clan." Her hand drifted toward his chest, but again fell before making contact. "I don't know who or what this hunt would have made of me without that purpose."

Wrex nodded, grumbling agreement, the ache in her voice reaching into his gut, hooking an almost forgotten part of him. "In another life, I spent centuries on my own, living as a merc. I never stopped moving. Do the job and move on." He grunted, low and deep in his belly. "Do the job and move on. Then someone kicked me in the ass. She gave me a chance …. a purpose." He stepped back, air seeming to rush into the space between them as it widened. "She gave me hope for the krogan. Maybe one of the reasons was so my people could pass some of that hope to you."

Samara's brow furrowed, but her expression lightened. "A great, cosmic wheel turning?" She nodded. "That would be a great comfort, were it true." As the spell broke, her gaze returned to Morinth. "I would see her laid to rest rather than leaving her to the animals."

Wrex nodded and let out a long breath, grateful to have something other than the justicar's eyes to focus on. "I'll build a pyre." He glanced back toward the tunnel, the rustles and groans of the _qadin_ he'd incapacitated echoing toward them. "Watch the tunnel. I put one of the guards down rather than killing her."

Samara nodded. "Thank you, my friend." She strode toward the front entrance. "I'll link up with my yacht's VI and land it in the valley. I can't climb back over the mountain tonight."

Wrex grunted his approval, already gathering wood and stone for the pyre. When he knew the pile would burn long and hot enough to completely consume Morinth's body, he laid the ardat yakshi out and covered it all with a generous dose of the concentrated klixen gland extract. Within ten seconds, the fire burned hot enough to force them back into the tunnel entrance. Even at that distance, he could have sworn the outer layers of his hide curled and peeled back like dead leaves.

Still, he stood just behind Samara, silent support as the justicar paused to say her goodbyes. When she backed into him, pressing against his side, he laid a hand on her shoulder. She'd fought with a ferocious grace and passion, layers of her that she'd kept hidden beneath the stoic mask of strength. She stirred a fire in his head and heart … one completely inappropriate to the circumstance, and so he stepped back, throwing up an invisible barrier.

Samara turned her back to the fire. "I'm ready."

Understanding the meaning beneath the words, Wrex nodded. Perhaps with the fire behind her, the justicar could find a purpose that allowed her to embrace life rather than marching through along a stoic path toward death. He turned and led the way out through the rear entrance, eager to return to his clan and begin planning how best to respond to the geth-quarian war.

He watched for the young female as they made their way down into the valley, but the _qadin_ must have run off, either disappearing into the mountains to die or returning to her clan. Wrex hoped for the latter. One day, he'd see the despair that drove her to Morinth's false cure turned into hope and purpose … perhaps even the joy of pups.

The sleek yacht awaited them on the valley floor, the slim, silver lines a reflection of its operator's entire aesthetic.

"I could use some food," he said as they entered the small cargo bay, the majority of which was filled by her car and supply crates.

"There's roast varren in the galley fridge and fresh bread on the counter." She turned back as she lifted a foot onto the stairs up to the main deck. "And a bottle of very fine Thessian red in the cupboard."

"It's not raw varren heart," he said, a grin baring his teeth, "but it'll do." He pulled off his gauntlets and set them on the bench, then washed his hands and dove into the task of finding food and drink. A victorious battle, no matter the hardship or cost, necessitated a feast to celebrate life and to honour the vanquished.

While he prepared their meal, Samara set them on course for the camp, and then … judging by the smell of spice and soap that accompanied her into the galley … showered and dressed in a long robe of heavy silk. Instead of sitting across from him to eat, she sat by his side, not touching but close enough that the warmth of her scent set his head spinning and tightened his armour to the point of pain.

She didn't speak, and he left the silence undisturbed, guessing that her thoughts remained fixed on her daughters. For his part, it took his entire concentration to do battle with his hand's desire to slide over the smooth curve of her thigh into the warmth nestled just beyond.

The rattle of Samara's wine glass against the table startled him as she drained it for the third time. Setting aside her unfinished sandwich, she delicately wiped her mouth on a napkin before turning to lean into his side. One hand stroked his neck, cool and gentle, its caresses almost enough to distract him from the other as it walked along the seams of his armour, seeking the catches and releasing them. For the space of a dozen breaths, he allowed the moment to seduce him, leaning into the easy bliss of her touch. It stirred his blood until flames flared along every nerve and desire boiled through his veins, its roar deafening him to the voice of his better sense.

Then, that voice raised to a bellow, demanding that he decide if a couple hours of pleasure were worth the cost.

"Samara." Her name formed a low, guttural plea for space and mercy. He stood, buying that space at a premium. Five decades of friendship—of affection and respect—demanded that he walk away, while every other part of him insisted on pinning her against a wall and discovering all the secrets hidden beneath her robe.

"Your blood doesn't burn with the passion and flame of battle?" Samara asked. She pushed up off the bench and followed him, her hands returning to the clasps on his armour. "You don't desire this?"

Wrex nodded, but slowly. "Your blood runs cold with death and grief … and three glasses of wine." Retreating toward the cockpit, he said, "And Morinth's body still burns. If you want me when that fire cools, I'm willing. Let's get back to Urdnot."

The justicar followed, gripping him tighter, refusing to let him turn away. Damn stubborn females. "You would deny me the comfort of a friend's arms in my grief?" Her hand found the hip seam in his armour, strong, nimble fingers making a fine argument for surrender ... even through his armour's underlayer.

Reaching up to press his hand against her cheek, the skin warm and smooth beneath his palm, Wrex let out a long breath. "I'm denying you a crapload of regret when your head clears."

"I would never feel regret for sharing passion and affection with you. Not after all you have shared with me over the cycles." She met his stare with one that broadcast heat and desire rather than desperation. "Allow me to find life at the end of a century of death and solitude … to sift pleasure and companionship from the sand that has become a home … as have you."

A long sigh announced Wrex's defeat even before he allowed it to register. He stepped into her, leaning down to brush her cheek with his, their hands sliding over one another as she guided him toward her cabin.

* * *

Samara stopped at the end of her yacht's short ramp, her eyes lifting toward the pale face of the new sun as it climbed above the _gikgah_ walls. "A beautiful morning," she said. Wrex strode ahead a few steps, then stopped and turned back, her spot at his side suddenly cold.

After a moment, she met his gaze, a long, musical sigh escaping her lips as she smiled. That sigh didn't sound sorrowful or filled with regret. Instead, it spoke of lightness and freedom. "Thank you for your assistance, and for allowing me to find purpose with Urdnot these many cycles," she said, her tone final enough that Wrex scowled.

"You're leaving?" He returned to the end of the ramp and stared into her eyes, disappointment sizzling like a blast of thresher acid to his chest. Not that he'd expected them to become a bonded pair after a single night of overwrought, enthusiastic sex, but neither had he expected her to leave. The idea of sitting alone by the fire every night tore a hole straight through his plates. Samara formed a large part of Urdnot. Despite not being krogan, she was as much a member of the clan as any of them.

More than that, she was his friend … a trusted presence and support. She'd become a home to him as much as he had to her. The words died as he held her stare, his mouth no more able to speak them than he could beg her to stay.

"I'll return after I've settled my business and travelled to visit my daughters." One elegant hand gripped the frame of her ship, the other stretching out … nearly covering the distance between them before it fell. "They deserve to hear of Morinth's fate from me, and I need to see them. It's been far too long." A slight smile lifted the sorrow from her features, if only for a moment. "I'll return in a half cycle. See that the youngsters keep up their training in my absence."

Wrex nodded, straightening even as a fist closed around his throat. "Don't do anything stupid out there, and send a message once in awhile." A half cycle. That promise kept him from charging up the ramp after her as she backed away. "Come back prepared to fight."

The justicar nodded. "Always." Without another word, she spun on her toes and climbed the ramp, sealing it behind her.

Wrex backed away as the thrusters fired, the sleek vessel lifting from the ground. A half cycle. Samara would keep her word.

"How did it go?" Quarn called, striding across the tarmac. "She's leaving? Does that mean the ardat yakshi is dead?"

Wrex nodded and turned to face his friend, shoving the memory of the justicar's touch—of the fire and passion of the bond they'd shared … one that transcended their bodies—to the back of his mind. "Morinth is dead." He clapped the turian on the back. "But more importantly, how much of my city is still standing after a day in your care?"

He glanced back once, catching a glint of the sun off the yacht as it accelerated through the atmosphere, but then turned to face the future. The months would pass quickly, especially if he threw the krogan into a war with the geth.

* * *

(A-N: Soooo sorry for the long wait. Yes, the story remains alive and kicking. I've just lost some focus over the spring. Hopefully it will return and I can update every couple of weeks for sure. Thank you to all the people who continue to show interest in this story, and support me as I write it. Special thanks for reviews. Hearing from people never fails to make my day.)


	10. Chapter Ten -- Can Diplomacy Make Someone Explode?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Our agreement with the geth to evacuate your civilians depends on the krogan and CDEM personnel remaining neutral," Wrex answered at last. "The captain needs to stop being an ass long enough for you to get through or we need to ask the geth for a new evac site." The latter seemed far more likely than the former. "Hold."
> 
> Leaning over the pilot's shoulder once more, Wrex changed the comm channel to the one the geth had provided. "Requesting alternate evacuation point for Galinn settlement," he said, knowing after nearly four months that dealing with the geth meant speaking frankly and then waiting for a one word answer.
> 
> A minute later a set of coordinates appeared on the comm console.

**Denyah** \- (Quarian) Female quarian after undergoing her pilgrimage.

 **Waidah** \- (Quarian) Male quarian after undergoing his pilgrimage.

 **Kala** \- (Quarian) Mother.

 **Qadin** \- (Krogan) Female having undergone the Rite of Passage.

 **Qisan** \- (Krogan) Male having undergone the Rite of Passage.

 **Rahat** \- (Krogan) Vulgar expletive. Krogan equivalent to shit.

 **Morumplacus** \- (Turian) Ghoul or wandering spirit.

 **Tarc** \- (Turian) Vulgar expletive. Turian equivalent to shit.

**1895 CE In high orbit of Haestrom (11 months later)**

A dull thump of armoured palm against metal door alerted Wrex to Quarn's arrival a second before the door opened and two plus metres of angry turian stormed through.

"He's still acting like a moron?" Wrex asked, his every nerve burning, too caught between frustration and apathy to bother looking around at his friend.

"He blew up another set of our signal boosters," Decan Quarn replied, throwing himself into the empty navigator's seat to Wrex's right. "Same _tarc_ about us being geth sympathizers and his people going down fighting to the last child." He kicked the console panel. "I offered to give his youngest my pistol."

Wrex grumbled, low and deep, and paced the narrow cockpit a couple of times. "Remind the rest of the civilian leaders that we have twenty hours remaining in the forty-eight hour ceasefire. If they have people or ships they want escorted to Phoenix Massing, they'd better get moving."

"Urdnot Wrex?" Male. Quarian. A voice Wrex could go a century or two without hearing again after the past two days.

Swallowing his frustration, Wrex leaned over his pilot's shoulder to press the comms. "Wrex here."

"It's Representative Kiri'Onar vas Galinn. Our people are moving to the evacuation site, but Captain Jai'Natam's company broke the ceasefire. "We can't reach the shuttles, and now the refugees are scattered and pinned down. Even if the geth don't retaliate, Natam has vowed to kill us all as traitors." A ragged sound somewhere between a sigh and grumbled vulgarity rolled from the speakers.

Wrex glanced toward Quarn, but the turian just shook his head. The complications and trouble caused by Captain Jai'Natam over evacuating Haestrom's populace more than tripled that of clearing out Rannoch's non-combatants. Everywhere, the quarians saw the end coming, the geth having driven them back without mercy. Almost to a one, the commanders of the ground units were too busy staving off inevitable defeat to argue about getting as many of their people out of the line of fire as possible.

Just as Wrex planned.

"Our agreement with the geth to evacuate your civilians depends on the krogan and CDEM personnel remaining neutral," Wrex answered at last. "The captain needs to stop being an ass long enough for you to get through or we need to ask the geth for a new evac site." The latter seemed far more likely than the former. "Hold."

Leaning over the pilot's shoulder once more, Wrex changed the comm channel to the one the geth had provided. "Requesting alternate evacuation point for Galinn settlement," he said, knowing after nearly four months that dealing with the geth meant speaking frankly and then waiting for a one word answer.

A minute later a set of coordinates appeared on the comm console.

"Confirmed." Wrex nodded for the pilot to send the new coordinates to all involved, then turned to Quarn. "Come on, I get the feeling that we'll need to oversee this one on the ground."

Quarn grumbled. "I'm just going to shoot Jai'Natam. The geth won't change the agreement over a quarian casualty, and it would make things a lot easier."

Wrex gave his best friend a crooked, fierce grin, knowing the threat stemmed from frustrated bluster than any actual plan of attack. Despite Jai'Natam being a quarian, the geth would see any violation of the accord as a breach of trust. Being relative newborns, they processed things in very black and white terms. That meant all of them had to toe a rigid line. Tens of millions of quarians settling into their new home on Haratar station in the Sea of Storms depended on the agreement with the geth holding.

"This is the last of the evacuations," he said by way of a reply, leading the way down the transport's central corridor toward the rear elevator. "We can put up with one more pain in the ass. In twenty hours, we'll be able to go home." His tone added an unspoken 'finally'.

"The matriarchs and council first," Quarn reminded him, earning a low growl. The turian grinned, the first show of good humour in days. "Haratar's provisional government sent the names of their delegates for the meeting." He shrugged, a tilted sort of shoulder roll. "The group doesn't look like they'll give us much trouble."

Wrex stepped into the carriage, waiting until Quarn followed before he pressed the control to take them down to the lowest deck. "Good, we need the council to keep the quarian embassy open and provide them with a new planet before living in space destroys what immune system they have." He grumbled, as close to a sigh as he could manage after months of diplomacy duties. "Still hoping to convince the geth to send an envoy."

Quarn nodded as he slouched against the railing. "Might help them avoid becoming the _morumplacus_ hiding in every shadow."

"Keep me from shooting Jai'Natam myself?" Wrex asked, sending a twisted, wry sort of grin across to his friend. "We've got at least two full runs to clear the settlement." Part of the geth accord prohibited krogan and turian ships from landing on planets or docking with space stations. The AIs had, however, balanced that demand by providing a fleet of large transport ships and shuttles. If the quarians packed themselves in, they could manage five thousand bodies per ship.

Between the geth-provided ships and the quarians being permitted to evacuate in their own, unarmed vessels, things generally ran fairly smoothly. On Rannoch, the quarian pilots had left a mountain of ripped out weapon parts nearly ten metres high at the de-militarizing site, but in the end, after nearly thirty successful ceasefires and evacuations, only geth and those like Jai'Natam, who wanted to go down fighting, remained on the homeworld's surface.

When they reached the cargo/shuttle bay, Wrex led the way to the sole shuttle inhabiting the massive, silent deck. His people would already be seated inside, awaiting his arrival. Bakara ran the evacuation security teams like the krogan queens of old commanded their slaves, and they adored her. Watching her soldiers race to obey every order, he could scarcely recall that females hadn't always been warriors.

That wasn't to say that Bakara hadn't proven herself as much a diplomat as a warrior. Over the months, the _qadin_ had proven responsible for nearly half the number of bodies moved to safety, talking difficult community leaders into sacrificing pride and dreams of miraculous victory to give their people a chance at life.

Wrex rumbled, discomfited that over the course of saving a great many lives, he'd begun to think in terms of bodies, units rather than people: logistics taking precedence over compassion. A necessary evil that would finally come to an end the next day. Then, all that remained was to meet with a group of matriarchs who held influence with the council and then the council itself. Just a couple of small things, but his plans wouldn't see any sort of success if he didn't start recruiting people of influence to help grease the gears.

The krogan clan chief thumped into the seat closest to the door. People of influence … who would have thought he'd ever concern himself with currying favour? Still, without Samara doing just that over the past several months, they wouldn't be where they were … wouldn't have saved millions of quarians … and geth. At first, the council had reacted to the krogan reaching an accord with the geth in a most predictable manner, assuming that he'd proposed an alliance rather than the uneasy ceasefires that applied to refugee removal. Samara smoothed it over, pressuring contacts and calling in favours.

"You're scheming again," Quarn said, shattering the endless loop inside Wrex's head. "Relax. Samara and Mellir have the political maneuvering end covered."

Wrex didn't reply, turning instead to Bakara. "We may need your teams to run interference if Jai'Natam tries to block the evacuation again."

The _qadin_ stiffened to attention, replying with a sharp nod, so formal and respectful in front of others that he scarcely recognized her. Behind closed doors, she challenged everything, forcing him into corners with her relentless intelligence and unlimited stores of stubborn determination. After so long, he didn't know which he preferred.

They made landfall at the new coordinates, quarian refugees already beginning to flood in, family groups for the most part.  Several generations huddled together in nervous clusters of quiet sobs and trembling limbs. As soon as the shuttle opened, Bakara moved her troops out.

"Garv," the _qadin_ called, waving to a tall, lanky youngster, "with me. Bitac, start loading odd numbered shuttles. Ninav, see to the even. The rest of you, move down the slope, four metre spread. Keep eyes on the evacuees coming up the hill and help where needed."

She strode toward a group of what looked like three generations clustered into a protective circle. When Bakara approached, they closed ranks, but she merely held out a hand. "Jai'Natam and his militia are just a few moments away. Please allow us to get you to safety. You needn't fear us." She gestured for Garv to help with their belongings, and they parted to reveal a wizened _denyah_ lying on the ground.

Bakara smiled and knelt next to the elderly quarian. "Hello, old mother," she said, her voice gentle. "What happened?"

"My _kala_ was shot!" a middle-aged _waidah_ shouted, shoving himself between his mother and the _qadin_. "The geth harried us the whole way. I thought you people arranged a ceasefire! Jai'Natam was right. None of you can be trusted."

"We're here to help," Bakara said simply. "If you don't want to accept that help, that's your decision, but your mother is hurt and needs medical attention." Standing, she moved the much smaller quarian aside but gently, then returned to the wounded elder. "It's okay, old mother," she said, soothing the _denyah's_ cries of fear. "I'm just going to put some quick-heal on the wound and bandage it."

Bakara glanced behind her. "Garv, get the children inside the shuttle." She leveled a stern finger at the blustering son. "Jai'Natam's soldiers shot your _kala_ ; we're helping her. Decide on common sense, or go join Natam, he's about five hundred metres that way." She stabbed the finger behind them. "Either way, get out of my face, and let me treat her before it's too late."

Wrex watched, puffed up with pride as the _waidah_ backed off, allowing Bakara to treat the grandmother's wound. Lifting the elder in gentle arms, the _qadin_ carried her to the shuttle, settling her within.

"Let's get this shuttle filled. The old one needs to get to the doctor!" she called, her voice booming across the high plateau.

 _Rahat,_ how Wrex wished the council could see it: millions of quarians looking to krogan with hope and a feeling of safety. He wished they could see his people protecting the shivering and lost, chivying the quarians into line, firm and scolding, but more gentle and encouraging than even he'd thought possible.

Wrex turned to face Haestrom's sun, bright and fierce in the clear, blue sky: becoming a monster, but one still early in its development. As he stared into the glare, he wondered if Shepard would ever dart beneath it, racing to rescue Tali from geth attackers. He'd changed a great deal over the cycles, changes that might come back to bite the entire galaxy in the ass. And, he fully intended to make more changes without knowing where the ripples might end.

For a half-second, his hearts stalled, each skipping a couple of beats. The odds in favour of disaster built to ever-increasing heights. What if he'd already done something that prevented Shepard from being born?

 _Rahat!_ He was becoming an old _qadin_ , dithering over details. Leader or not, he remained a warrior, and worry gained him nothing. If he'd inadvertently destroyed the future, he had. If something he did in the future destroyed it, it did. He'd rather be damned for acting than for sitting on his tail and waiting for the krogan to pull their heads out of their asses. He already knew how that timeline played out. Shepard would show up in her due course, and he'd have the krogan ready to stand behind her.

"We need the signal boosters redeployed," he called to Quarn. If things went to hell, they'd need reliable communications off planet, something Dholen made next to impossible.

"Already on it," the turian called back as he led his squad away from the evacuees. "Scouts report Jai'Natam's troops are right behind this lot. He opened fire on the refugees; killed three." Quarn cursed, his hand rubbing at the grip of his sidearm. "Bakara's people are moving to get between them."

Wrex ground his teeth, rage flushing his vision a virulent shade of scorched amber. War brewed a special sort of madness. Fear not only stripped away some quarian's honour and guts, it had stripped away sanity, leaving a great many of them completely raving, obsessed with eradicating the enemy even at the cost of their own people. He clenched his fists until the joints ached, fighting down the fury.

"Jai'Natam's forces are closing in too fast," Bakara's voice called from behind Wrex. He turned to face the _qadin_ , but waited for her to supply a solution, knowing one awaited. "I'm going to try to reason with his soldiers." She straightened as her tone hardened. "He'll never back down, his family's already dead, but the rest may still have family they don't care to shoot in the back."

Nodding, Wrex took a single step toward her. "No guns! Even if they fire on you. Just record and retreat. We'll change the evac coordinates again." Wrex cut the air with a hand when she opened her mouth to argue. "I know this is the last evac, but I refuse to end this op with a blood bath. If the quarians open fire, record it, especially if the geth engage the attackers."

A low, rolling growl echoed up from Bakara's throat. "For your political maneuverings."

He just nodded. She knew well enough what those political maneuverings had done for the krogan, but … she was krogan. Turning her back on a fight would never sit particularly well. He didn't expect it to. Pride drew him straight.

Jutting his chin toward the intermittent sound of gunfire, Wrex said, "Get moving before there's no one to evacuate."

When Bakara set out, Wrex spun and waved to Barl. "We'll flank the quarians, run interference if we need to."

His second chuckled, low and dangerous. "I thought you said no gun play." He waded through the dead grass, his bulk flattening a wide swath.

Wrex nodded. "And I meant it. We break the cease fire, the geth could attack Haratar." He struck out at a ground-eating run. "We don't need to fire a weapon to run interference." His turn to chuckle. If he caught footage of a krogan talking the quarians into sparing their own refugees, it would—

He bit off that thought and kept running. Damn the politician taking over his brain, bent on twisting everything into a dance. Teeth grinding again, he swore that when he returned to Tuchanka, he'd take his krantt out into the wastes, find a thresher maw, and fill it full of lead until his arms went numb and its blood washed over his boots.

Wrex caught sight of geth platforms moving slowly through the tall, baked grass, their weapons hung up. He counted one prime, three hunters, and fifteen smaller units: a patrol keeping an eye on the evac. The AIs displayed no sign of aggression, the geth sitting comfortably in the certainty of their eventual victory. They'd brutally and efficiently destroyed the quarian offense, using tactics that made even krogan wince, but it placed them right where Wrex had hoped: confident enough to agree to mercy.

Of course, it only looked as though approaching the geth amounted to a massive risk. He knew that the geth didn't want to obliterate their creators, they just didn't want to end up extinct themselves. Offering to remove the quarians provided the geth with the best of both worlds. Luckily, they saw it that way as well.

Gunfire alerted Wrex to Jai'Natam's position long before he caught sight of the quarian's troops. He led Barl up onto the second floor of a bombed out home, and hunkered down behind a partial wall. From that vantage point, he could see Bakara and her people moving down the slope from the evac site, the panicked quarians fleeing past her in ragged lines. Behind them, closer than he'd imagined, marched the organized, unrelenting lines of Natam's militia. He counted nearly a hundred in two, staggered lines bent on herding the refugees out of the grass into the open.

Wrex held no illusions about what would happen to the fleeing quarians once they emerged from cover. The militia fired into the grass, taking shots at everything that moved.

"Listen to me," Bakara called. Her shields flashed twice before her strong voice silenced the gunfire. "These people you're firing on are the weak, the young, and the old. They're your families, your friends, and all they want to do is get away from the fighting."

"They are cowards and traitors to the quarian people," Natam shouted back. He stepped a little ahead of his troops. Wrex thanked him for painting his target if things went to hell. The quarian's back arched as he shouted, his entire body projecting crazed fervour. "Unless they return to their homes, we'll run them down and execute them."

"You can speak thus because your family is dead, Natam. Your grief has driven you mad," the _qadin_ replied. She edged forward, stepping around a body then gesturing for Garv to check on the fallen quarian. "If they were not. If your bond-mate and children were ahead of you in the grass, would you be so quick to fire?"

Wrex grinned, thin and vicious, seeing where she was leading. Damn, if that pain in his ass wasn't clever.

"They'd still be traitors. They'd still face summary execution." The captain twisted and signaled to his people, ordering them to move up on Bakara's flanks. Damn.

Wrex shifted a little in his crouch. He couldn't let the last evacuation end in slaughter because of one, crazed quarian. Movement in his peripherals to the left drew his attention back to the geth. The platforms circled around, still watching, but it looked as though they were positioning themselves to step in if Natam went after the refugees or Bakara. _Rahat!_ If the quarians opened fire and the geth followed suit, his people would take the crossfire.

"You'd shoot your own children in the head?" Bakara let out a loud, derisive snort. "Are any of the rest of you prepared to do that? Have you been driven so mad by hatred and fear that you'd shoot your own children? Your spouses? Your parents?" She stepped around another body, that one far too small to be anything but a child. The _qadin_ bent to check for life, her body language saying all that Wrex needed to know as she stood, her shoulders not quite rising to where they should, her back not quite straightening.

With a furious roar, Bakara charged out of the grass to face the militia's line a little south of Natam's position. "What sort of monsters chase down and kill innocent children and old people. These are your families. Don't you understand how blessed you are?"

Somewhere, nearly drowned out by Bakara's booming tones, Wrex heard a thin, agonized wail and a shuffling through the grass. He couldn't make out what the _denyah_ was saying, but he knew the tone. He'd heard it more times than he'd ever be able to erase from memory: the sound of a mother's grief.

Bakara stretched one arm out toward the slope, the quarians just furrows in the endless waves of brown stalks. "What does it say that the geth are showing them compassion, allowing us to remove them, while you hunt them down? What does that say about what the quarians have become?" Wrex tensed, preparing to spring and get her out of the line of fire as she took another step toward the quarian line.

"Too close," he whispered under his breath, earning himself a smirk from Barl. "She's going to get herself shot," he snapped, bristling.

Barl shook his head. "She's got the best instincts I've ever seen. If things start to go balls up, she'll pull back." The other krogan shifted a little closer to the edge of the floor. "Where are those geth going?"

Wrex held out an arm to block his friend. "It's all right. They're keeping eyes on." Despite his confident words, uncertainty grew heavy and malignant, pressing against the back of his skull.

Jai'Natam charged at Bakara, but the _qadin_ held firm, straightening to her full height as he shouted, "You won't turn my people against me with the mewling of krogan cowardice. They understand that victory means sacrifice, even family if necessary." When he brought his weapon to bear, she grabbed his arm, wrenching it behind his back.

When Natam's soldiers moved in, Bakara laughed, a frigid sound that froze Wrex's hearts solid. "You aren't shooting geth, and if you lot think of taking a shot, it'll be into your fearless leader." She dragged Natam backwards to the body of the dead child, no more than a couple of cycles old. With the grass trampled down, Wrex could make out a small female—the mother, no doubt— dragging herself through the dirt, wounded and calling for her child. "Are these geth?" Dragging the captain with her, she whirled on the others. "Where is the honour in this? Do you see traitors here?"

Her squad closed on the quarians as one of Natam's people lunged for her, his weapon raised. Garv leaped in, one large hand snatching the gun from the quarian's grip, and then ….

Geth platforms appeared along the line of quarians, startling even Wrex as they stepped out of the grass. He'd been held captive between pride and needing to leap down and run interference, so enraptured in Bakara's passion that he didn't notice the platforms move into place.

The Prime strode in from behind Wrex's position. "Take the creator-female and return to the shuttles," it said to Bakara, stepping a little ahead of its fellows. Ignoring her once it gave the order, it turned to the quarians. "Any creators wishing to evacuate may disarm and proceed to the shuttles."

Wrex stood, wary eyes watching as all the quarians but for a couple dozen dropped their weapons. Mouth curling into a snarl at their surrender, he stepped to the edge, then jumped down, Barl on his heels. Would those willing to follow Natam accept peace on Haratar, or would they press for the quarians to return and fight? He strode toward the geth line.

"Urdnot Bakara, get these people to the shuttles," Wrex called to break the uneasy impasse. What the quarians did once he stepped away from their war didn't impact him, he told himself. It almost worked. Almost.

The _qadin_ shoved Natam away from her, but not forcefully enough to throw him to the ground.

The captain staggered a few metres but recovered quickly, unleashing his indignity and rage on the Prime. "You expect me to believe you'll show us mercy?" Natam demanded, his voice thick with poison that he spat into the geth's face.

The Prime didn't even flinch. Wrex scowled as he stepped up between the two factions. Of course it didn't flinch. It was a machine; the programs within not registering any threat or insult from a little spit.

"The geth have never desired war with the creators," the unit said. "They fought back to protect themselves from extinction. The creators started this war."

"And you continue it," Bakara said, not obeying Wrex's order. Instead, she signaled for Garv to take the mother and dead child to the shuttles. The surrendered militia were already partway up the slope and moving fast toward the ships. "Has there been a chance for peace all this time and neither side asked for it?"

"Never!" Jai'Natam threw himself at the geth, pummeling the massive unit with both fists. "We gave them life, how did they repay us? They destroyed the market in our town while my wife and children were buying food. I'll kill every last one of these monsters." Wrex grabbed the quarian by the collar of his armour and lifted his struggling, cursing form to dangle from one hand.

"All modeled peace scenarios resulted in failure," the Prime unit said. Well, at least both sides agreed on something.

"So, what's changed? Why allow the evacuation?" Wrex asked. He dropped Natam, stepping around the captain to stand nose to chest with the geth spokes-platform. "When we approached you months ago, you had destroyed huge areas of Rannoch with chemical warfare. Those attacks and the bombing of civilian targets killed tens of thousands more innocents than Jai'Natam has." Eyes narrowed, he challenged the geth, pushing in on it to see how it would react.

"The geth are in their infancy as a race," the platform said, its tone still completely neutral. "We were created for labour and were not programmed with knowledge of warfare."

Wrex backed up, hope worming its way through the doubt. Damn it. His insane plan just might have a chance. He glanced at Barl and then Bakara. The battlemaster's face twisted into a dubious scowl and his shotgun sat all too eagerly at the ready in his hands. The young warrior, however, watched the geth with eyes that shone, a volley of hope and possibility going off in their depths.

"What the geth learned of fighting, we learned when the creators attacked," the geth continued. "They killed everyone in pursuit of their goal, including the creators who sheltered and protected the geth: the ones who sought peace. They bombed buildings, killing entire families just to terminate a single geth platform within."

Wrex looked to Jai'Natim, the quarian shooting them all with death glares and quivering with rage. Bakara nudged the captain. "You taught them well, but not well enough to completely ignore compassion."

"The geth learned compassion from the creators who fought to protect them, but also that compassion was not a quality that would save us," the platform said, simple and direct, no hint of the snark Wrex would have stabbed through the words. For that heartbeat, he pitied the geth their lack of passion. They'd never understand what it felt like to sweep into a rage or be caught up by lust.

"When Urdnot Wrex approached the geth with his proposal, the consensus was divided as to whether or not to destroy his vessels. The half who voted in favour of destruction reached their decision based on the conclusion that organic life must hate and destroy artificial life." The platform cocked its head a little, mimicking Bakara's postures. "They did not trust Urdnot Wrex to maintain neutrality and believed that the proposed ceasefire was a misdirection in order to launch an attack on the geth."

"You assumed it was a trick?" Bakara asked, pressing in beside Wrex. He stepped back a bit, allowing her to guide the exchange. If she was going to lead the krogan one day, she'd need the skills.

"Foremost among the principles the creators programmed into the geth was the precept that all life has value and must be protected. When the geth gained life, the creators reacted by trying to extinguish it. They did not obey their own principles."

"So, why are we here?" the _qadin_ asked, practically quivering with excitement. "Why aren't our ships just frozen chunks of debris at the relay?"

"The other half argued that the geth are just beginning," the Prime replied, "our processes new and lacking experience and nuance. As such, we could not foresee all the consequences of destroying our creators. The creators did not show signs of willingness to retreat. Urdnot Wrex's plan offered the geth a means by which some creators might be preserved."

The geth didn't shift or fidget, only the flaps on its head moving to colour its words. "The geth decided to set an initial list of conditions and observe whether or not Urdnot Wrex abided by them. When he agreed to the geth's ceasefire conditions and enforced them, the consensus agreed the proposal posed an acceptable level of risk."

Wrex glanced behind them as the last of the shuttles took off. Only one remained. Theirs. "Time to go," he said. On his chrono, six hours and twenty-one minutes remained in the ceasefire. "You'll live up to the agreement and leave Haratar station alone unless the quarians attack you first?"

"Affirmative." The platforms all backed up a step in unison. "By abiding by your agreements and honouring the conditions the geth set out for the preservation of the creators, you have taught the geth that not all organics disregard their own rules. We now believe a 61.5483% chance exists that the creators will also abide by the long term ceasefire agreement."

It paused, the flaps around its light spiking a little before settling in a wave. "However, the geth will not accompany you to your Citadel. The other races fear the geth, and so the geth will remain within the Perseus Veil. We will continue to learn, to grow, and perhaps one day we will contact the other races. To aid in the formalization of the peace accord, the geth will send a message to the Citadel Council detailing our agreement and conditions."

Wrex nodded toward the few militia who still stood a couple of metres away, their rifles held in sweating hands. "And them?" He couldn't say why, he hadn't had many dealings with the geth other than killing them while the _Normandy_ chased Saren, but he trusted the geth to keep to their agreements. Well, as much as he trusted anyone. Perhaps Shepard's faith in them during the war had infected him. Whatever the reason, he felt no qualms about walking away.

"The geth will not break the ceasefire until the deadline passes. We will guard these soldiers to cover your departure then release them." Without bothering to relieve the quarians of their weapons, the geth surrounded them, the conversation apparently over.

"Come on, let's get moving," Wrex said, turning toward the shuttle. "We need to be through the relay in six hours." Halfway back to the shuttle, his omnitool beeped. He opened the incoming message, a rough laugh greeting the contents.

"Clan Chief?" Bakara asked, stopping to wait, then falling in beside him. "What is it?"

"The geth message for the council. It says leave us alone, and we'll leave you alone." He shrugged. "Well, pretty much."

She sighed, deflating a little. "I hoped they'd agree to come and speak to the council. There's so much they could learn." Looking up at him, her gold eyes sparkled. "Like the krogan are learning."

"They're not ready," Wrex answered, feeling the truth behind the words. "The rest of the races aren't ready, either. We'll tell the council the truth and hope they're smart enough to leave well enough alone until the geth decide to step forward."

The _qadin_ nodded, rigid and formal. "Thank you, Clan Chief."

Wrex chuckled at her seriousness. "For what, Urdnot Bakara?" He grinned down at her, sobering when her expression remained both serious and sincere. Whatever it was she had to say, it meant something to her. He jutted his chin out a little, encouraging her to continue.

"For everything. For everything since the day Jerrod died and you came to the female camp, speaking to Mellir about changing the way the krogan lived." Her hand grasped his forearm for the barest of seconds, then she strode out ahead, bellowing orders to her troops.

"You're welcome, Urdnot Bakara," he called after her, too low for her to hear.

**1895 CE Armali, Thessia (Three days later)**

Wrex let out a long, belly-deep sigh that still tasted far too much like smoke, death, and too many terrified bodies packed into small spaces. Still, he grinned as he strode toward the airlock. So far, his plan was moving along far more smoothly than he'd anticipated.

Now he just needed to convince the council to find the quarian people a place to settle before their immune systems died or they started killing one another over bathroom lines on the crowded station. He hadn't kept a tally or manifests of the quarians they moved, but the number had exceeded Haratar Station's capacity long before Haestrom's evacuation.

His omnitool beeped an incoming message. Samara. He scowled. They were due to meet in about two minutes and five metres.

"We need to talk. It's important," the message said.

A bitter, sour-tasting chuckle rolled over his tongue. _Rahat_ , what could have gone wrong? He hit reply, sending, "So important it can't wait for me to walk through the hatch?" as he stepped into decon.

"No, but I wished for you to be forewarned."

His scowl deepened, dread casting its long shadow even as the light of the decon grid swept over him. Samara was never one to speak in riddles, so why was she choosing to do so now? The outer hatch opened. Whatever it was, it couldn't be so shocking that he needed to be—

Wrex stepped onto the docking bay floor, his eyes sliding right past the asari standing a couple of metres away then snapping back. His boots caught on the flooring, and he stumbled to a lurching stop, nearly falling on his face.

"Sama …." Her name died halfway out, his mouth hanging slack, disbelief snatching the thoughts from his head. He hadn't seen her since the morning she dropped him off at the _gikgah_ and headed out to tie up the loose ends after Morinth's death. Since, they'd communicated entirely by vid comms, and as he gawked at her, it occurred to him that he'd only seen her from the chest up on those occasions.

Wrex swallowed hard, his throat suddenly scalier than a thresher maw's backside. She looked beautiful, dressed in a long flowing dress of white silk dotted with small blue flowers. She smiled when their eyes met, the expression softening as he scowled, confused … his gut tossing, neck sweating, heart racing. He gulped again, sputtering a little as some spittle trickled down the wrong pipe.

"Samara," he managed to croak between coughs.

"Hello, Wrex. I'm very pleased to see you." Her hands settled to rest on her belly … her very large, almost pregnant-looking belly.  Surely it wasn't actually pregnant-looking.

Wrex cleared his throat and backed up a step. "You've been busy," he said, stabbing a vague, uncomfortable gesture toward her mid section. "I thought you were going to see the daughters you already had. Instead, you made more?" As much as he knew he had no right to feel jealousy; they'd made no promises after spending that single night. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the embers flaring beneath his plates. She stepped toward him, but he backed away, buying himself more space and the time that went with it.

It was ridiculous.

Or was it? All those nights sitting by the fire, the endless support for his clan … had it all meant more to him than he let himself admit? What if she didn't want to return to Urdnot after meeting with the council?

 _Rahat._ He'd let himself hang so much on her return. Too much. The embers caught fire. He was a fool. He chuffed. A complete, old fool.

"Wrex." Closing the distance between them, the asari shook her head. "I haven't been busy." She stepped into his space, a strong but delicate hand lifting to press against his chest. "At least not in the sense you mean. Wrex, I'm a few days short of bringing our daughter into the galaxy."

(A-N: Although this is good news for those of you who don't like Jack Harper, for those who do, my apologies. He's getting darned close to intersecting with Wrex's timeline, so there need to be a couple more chapters with old Uncle Urdnot before I get back to Jack. Oh the tangled web ... and weaving ... and stuff. Thank you all so very much with your support for this story. It's a really important story to me, and I take it very seriously, thus the sloth of it's updates.

Just a quick note that if you like AUs ... I have another two underway. The first is Mirror Effect, in which I swap around all the races and characters, which sends the adventure off in strange and wonderful ways. The second, I am co-writing with MosaicCreme. It's called Alphas of Omega and it is about the Omega years for Garrus. One small thing ... the Lazarus Project was sabotaged and destroyed 14 months in, and a barely pasted together Shepard escapes. She hides away on Omega, and hijinks ensue. :D

Hugs as always for those who like hugs. Thanks again.)


	11. Chapter Eleven: Other People's Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our daughter.
> 
> It had to be a poor joke … an especially cruel one to pull on a qisan his age. As the clan chief, he'd been chosen by many proven, fertile qadix. And yet, no cheery giggles of pups brightened his days. No small versions of him gazed up into his eyes, begging to hear tales of their forebearers or to learn how to use a sikah.

**Makah** \- (Asari) Father. The non-bearing parent.

 **Hinah** \- (Asari) Mother. The bearing parent.

 **Nais** \- (Asari) pronounced Nah-ees. Asari over the age of majority (40) Plural - Naisa

 **Kaika** \- (Asari) Daughter. Asari offspring.

 **Kai'ana** \- (Asari) Sister

 **Qadin** : (pronounced kah-dihn) Female after undergoing the rite of passage (female version)

 **Qisan** : (pronounced kee-sahn) Male after undergoing the rite of passage

 **Sikah:** A ritual dagger made from the tooth of a thresher maw awarded to young krogan after the rite of passage.

 **Rahat** \- (Krogan) Shit

**1895 CE Armali, Thessia (One minute later)**

_Our daughter_.

It had to be a poor joke … an especially cruel one to pull on a _qisan_ his age. As the clan chief, he'd been chosen by many proven, fertile _qadix_. And yet, no cheery giggles of pups brightened his days. No small versions of him gazed up into his eyes, begging to hear tales of their forebearers or to learn how to use a _sikah_.

Both hearts stopped dead, setting off a couple of small grenades inside Wrex's chest. A keen pain exploded, sending shrapnel of smoldering panic slicing through every organ, and the galaxy took a sharp spin to the left, dumping him into the wall. He slid along the smooth polycrete, headed straight for the floor until his pride managed to stab a hand out to catch hold in a seam. Still, he sagged against its support, his eyes fixed on Samara's belly: the only solid anchor in a world turned fluid.

"Our daughter." The words escaped to hover between them as if waiting for something to make them real. The hand not keeping him standing on trembling legs rose to float between them along with the words … those beautiful, insane, breath-stealing words.

"Yes." Her fingers wrapped around his and pulled them in to press against the swell of her stomach. "Our daughter." She smiled and reached up with her other hand to touch his cheek. "Come. We have some time before meeting with the matriarchs. We can get a cool drink and talk."

Instead of replying, Wrex pushed himself back up to stand on his own, his entire being focused on the warm, silk-covered curve of his daughter. _Daughter. My daughter._ The hearts that had stopped upon hearing the words, began to hammer inside his chest like war drums. No, not war drums … not for that.

"How?" A helpless plea for sanity, the word asked several questions at once. With them all swirling around in his head, Wrex couldn't decide which one to ask.

She squeezed his fingers, hers still as strong and gentle as he remembered from their single night, and tugged him away from the docking bay. "Come. I'll answer all your questions."

_Our daughter._

Numb but for the fires those words ignited in his chest, Wrex allowed her to lead him down the docks to a small cafe on a large, open terrace. Like everything else to do with the asari, it exuded elegance and … he sighed. It was pretty. Far too pretty and dainty for the likes of him. If he tried to sit on any of the scrollwork, wrought iron chairs, they'd fold under him. As old and 'seen and done it all' as he he prided himself in being, it took quite a lot to make him feel awkward or out of place. Hell, he'd spent far too many night shifts trying to sleep in one corner of the _Normandy's_ cargo bay while Vakarian and Shepard carried on their awkward 'what goes where' fiasco. So yeah, usually, he prided himself on his 'don't give a _rahat_ '. Usually. Samara had changed the entire field of battle.

Luckily, the moment the staff saw him coming, they swooped in, replacing one of the chairs with something that could hold his weight. Samara sat next to him, turned slightly to meet and hold his stare even as she ordered some sort of cold tea.

When the waiter asked him what he wanted to drink, all Wrex could think to say was 'ryncol and make it a triple'. Since he didn't think that appropriate, he just grunted and stabbed a thumb toward Samara. "Whatever she's having."

Neither one of them said anything until the drinks arrived, and even then they both drained half their glasses before Wrex turned to face her a little more directly. He stared at her for another long moment, just taking in how beautiful she looked. She shone with something he'd never seen on her face or in the way she held herself … happiness.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, a small spark appearing in the blank fog that clung to the inside of his skull. Letting out a sigh of relief, he let it burn off some of the chill bleariness, thought finally managing to form.

Samara sipped at her drink, then held the frosty glass between her hands, her gaze focused on it with only the occasional glance moving to him. "I didn't know how to feel about it myself after Mirala's death." A slight shrug rolled across her slender shoulders. "When I reached my matron stage, I'd been in love with another asari for nearly a century. We bonded and settled down."

She looked up, meeting and holding his stare. "I wanted a family so badly, and then I had three _kaika._ I dedicated my life to my family for forty cycles, and then Mirala was diagnosed as ardat yakshi." One hand abandoned her glass, moving over to grip his fingers, the residual cold seeping through his gloves. "Mirala killed her _makah_ and ran when my bond-mate tried to take her to the monastery. The other two were so broken-hearted by their _makah's_ death that they went willingly."

She let out a long breath and sipped at the tea. "I dropped them off, told them to behave, and then I abandoned them, becoming a justicar. It made complete sense to me at the time. My shattered heart needed to swear an oath that painted the galaxy in black and white. I needed to find and correct the mistakes I'd made." Her eyes shone, the whites streaking with fine lines of violet even before the first tears gathered in their corners.

The sight of the warrior—the mother of his child—crying burned away the rest of the fog, and Wrex turned his hand over to grip hers. "You were trying to atone for a crime you never committed," he said, his voice rough as it struggled through a paralyzed throat. Comfort had never been his strong suit.

His gaze fell to the rise of Samara's belly, the first traces of a smile tweaking one side of his mouth. That would have to change. "I've watched you for decades, and I know you've spent that time in pain. You missed all three of your daughters." He shrugged to lessen the empathy behind his words. Not that it much mattered if he showed weakness on Thessia.

When Samara tugged on her hand to take it back, he let it go. He wasn't a coddler, and she didn't need to be coddled. It's why their friendship worked.

"After Mirala's death, I selfishly sought comfort in your arms. A portion of my questionable decision making that night was allowing the part of me that wanted so desperately to be a _hinah_ to form the bond with you." Both hands migrated to cover their daughter. "And I should have told you, but I wasn't sure whether I could go through with bringing another _kaika_ into the galaxy … even one I knew would never be ardat yakshi."

Wrex met her eyes, lifting one brow to ask, silently, for permission to touch the unexpected, mind shattering miracle. His daughter. Samara replied with a nod and a sad sort of smile. When he pressed his hand against her dress, she covered it with her own, moving it to where their baby kicked out, using her heel to protest her tight confines.

He chuckled. "She's strong. Definitely has krogan in her."

"She's very strong," Samara agreed. "And healthy." The nais squeezed his hand. "I needed to see Rila and Falere before I made any decisions. Abandoning them the way I had, fixating on Mirala … singlemindedly pursuing her …." She scowled, her lips pursed as she struggled for words.

But Wrex shook his head, understanding what she meant. "You needed to see if you could do right by the daughters you already have before having another one." He leaned down a little to meet her eyes, but didn't ask how it had gone. Part of his answer came in the form of his very present, ready to pop daughter. The rest was Samara's to share or not.

"They welcomed me far more warmly than I deserved or expected. I spent four months at the monastery, learning who my _kaika_ are as _naisa_." The smile returned. "And they're beautiful." She lifted her brows and tilted her chin, meeting his eyes with the old fire, but without the old hardness. "They're eager to meet you, and excited about having a baby _kai'ana._ "

Wrex laughed, a harsh chortle. Meeting the family. It all sounded a little too much like bond-mate-ing for a _qisan_ who'd never felt the need to bond with anyone. He rumbled, the sound rolling deep in his chest. Well, except in that other life when Shepard had rescued Bakara from the salarians: the _qadin's_ fire had taken him by surprise.

Some things hadn't changed.

He turned a full, toothy grin to Samara, his hand staying pressed to his daughter's foot. "I can be there?" He stared at her, his expression pleading in a way he'd never allowed to enter his imagination let alone appear on his face. "And you'll return to Tuchanka once she's born?"

Samara nodded, letting out a long, relieved sounding breath. "Of course you can be there when she's born, and yes … if you want us there, we can make our home on Tuchanka." She smiled and shrugged. "I have students who have gone far too long without their instructor." After another second, she shook her head, looking as if the admission made her as uncomfortable as it would make him. "I've missed your companionship."

Before he could do much more than clear his throat, she glanced at the chrono on her omnitool, and let out a quick sigh. "We should go. The matriarchs will be waiting."

**1895 CE Armali, Thessia (One day worth of meetings and two days worth of waiting later)**

The lithe, silent form of Matriarch Saela S'aris crossed the hotel lobby, impressing Wrex with her stealth. She still wasn't good enough to get the drop on him, but not bad. He turned to face her as she inhaled, preparing to speak. He cocked his brow at her, earning a wry smile and a nod.

The matriarch gestured with one graceful hand to the settee just behind Wrex. He'd been avoiding sitting on it, not wanting to suffer Quarn's jocularity at the big, scary krogan chief sitting on the pretty, pink velvet chaise. "The council of matriarchs has voted unanimously to support your proposal to relocate the surviving quarian population, Urdnot Wrex. We believe that given some time to prepare, we can provide them with a suitably large continent in the northern polar region of Cyone." She tipped her head a little. "With council approval, naturally."

He sat, waiting until she took the seat opposite him before responding. After the grilling they'd put him, Quarn, and the quarian representative through, and then two days of waiting, he'd expected them to come back with an answer to the negative. "Most of the quarians understand the depth of their mistakes."

She crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap, regarding him with a gaze that gave away nothing more than her posture: the schooled equanimity of the ageless. "So you don't believe that they'll use the resources of a new settlement to retaliate against the geth?"

Wrex chuffed, after two lifetimes and over a thousand cycles he should be used to being patted on the head and treated like a moron. "I didn't say that. Peace and eventual repatriation is possible, but only if they don't do anything stupid. Like I said during the meetings, the geth need time to develop before they feel secure enough to accept contact with the other races." He glanced toward a decidedly amused chuff, and spotted Quarn making his way over to them. "The council will have to keep an eye on the quarians, ensure they don't turn the geth against the rest of us."

"You're certain that the geth will respond to even diplomatic overtures with violence?" Bright gold-brown eyes stared him down, practically scanning him. They'd asked him all these questions during the meeting. Why ask him again?

"I'm certain." He cleared his throat. "The line drawn in blood is this: the council needs to keep the quarians involved and their embassy open."

Saela waved her hand, an elegant, rudely dismissive gesture. "The quarians are all but a settled matter, Urdnot Wrex. They do not interest me past ensuring that the matriarchs are heard in the matter." She shifted, suddenly losing the careful poise as she tucked her feet beneath her chair and leaned forward, the heels of her hands pressed into the cushion next to her velvet-covered thighs. Eyes narrowing, she deepened that feeling of being scanned. "What interests me, Urdnot Wrex, is you."

Wrex let out a rumbling huff of air, but didn't rise to her bait. Instead he looked away, nodding to Quarn as the turian took one of the other seats.

"Oh, Wrex isn't that hard to figure out," the CDEM commander spoke up. "He's merely a leader smart enough to see that his people need to follow another road in order to prosper." The sarcastic flick of mandibles that accompanied the words belied the sincerity of his tone.

"A rare individual indeed, if that's the case," the matriarch countered. She shook her head. "Your father was a strident supporter of krogan retaliation against the entire galaxy. Even after more than five hundred cycles, he continued to agitate for war."

A guttural snort greeted Jarrod's mention. "Jarrod was driven mad by centuries of battle and seeing his once proud people torn down," Wrex said, letting a heavy growl resonate in his chest, seeing the direction of her questions. "He wanted to steer the krogan down a road that led straight to extinction." Rolling his shoulders, he sat straight enough to have a pole shoved up his ass. "I'm not mad, and I don't love battle more than my people. The way forward will not be found by tearing the galaxy apart. Our history is destruction." He held out his hands, more demanding than illustrative. "What did it gain us? The way forward is to build and cooperate."

She made a soft, scoffing sound in the back of her throat, the noise raking sharp claws down Wrex's already taut nerves. He clenched his teeth until his jaw cracked, then relaxed. If he had to spend much more time on Thessia, he might just decide Jarrod had the right idea.

Saela leaned a little further forward. "You almost sound like you believe that." Her mouth quirked in answer to his brow popping toward his crest a little. The matriarch's small 'tell' relaxed him the rest of the way. She was just poking him with a sharp stick to test him. "Some of the matriarchs fear that your alliance with the geth is a clever double-back. You rescue the quarians to throw the galaxy off the fact that you're using the geth to supply the krogan with the means to launch a new rebellion."

Wrex laughed, low and cold. "Wouldn't I be a fool to make a play so obvious?" He grumbled softly under his breath. "No, I'm krogan. My heart and bone are bred for war, but that war is changing. The krogan have to use their abilities and their heart to the benefit of the rest of you pyjaks."

"Time changes things but slowly. Beliefs … people … change even more slowly," Saela sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, watching Wrex from beneath hooded eyelids. "What will you do when the galaxy tells the krogan they're not ready for you to join the rest of us? What about when they say that you will always be mad animals needing to be kept on short leashes?"

 _Rahat._ Wrex began to think he might just like Matriarch Saela S'aris. He leaned forward, one hand braced against his knee. "Then we keep building Tuchanka until the rest of you pull your heads out of your cloacas. We don't have many pups, but we'll make sure the ones we do have get the best chance we can give them."

Not bothering to disguise the sly undercurrent to her questions, Saela raised an eyebrow. "You're after a cure for the genophage." A smirk followed the words. "Show the galaxy that the krogan can play nice so the council approves un-neutering you."

He took a deep breath, pulling the perfumed air over his pheromone receptors, weeding out all the false civility of the colognes and gardens to find the real, animal workings underlying the matriarch's questions. Musky ... desire … but not for him, almost desperate but something with the comfort of decades behind it. A bond-mate, maybe? Krogan? She wanted him to succeed, and with a strength that encouraged him to trust her.

"Should I want anything else?" Sitting back, he relaxed. "My people are dying, but not because of the genophage. Hopelessness was killing them. They needed purpose and strength: a goal. They need to come home and build pride in being krogan. We need to create a future where we control our numbers because we value each life just as preciously as we do now. We need to teach them how to take pride and throw their hearts into battle in a way that allows them to spend the rest of their time focused on work and family." He chuffed at the smile spreading across her face. "And yes, one day I expect the council to look at what my people have reclaimed out of the mistakes and shame of our ancestors and cure us."

The matriarch leaned forward again, but relaxed that time, her forearms draped over her knees. "Tell me your vision, Urdnot Wrex. My voice carries weight both here and on the Citadel. I can help you."

They sat there for three hours, Quarn joining in as Wrex laid out his plans for clearing away the ruins and building a tight knit, traditional community of farming and trade centers. Samara waddled in after the first hour, adding her voice to the increasingly excited and productive session. At nearly 800 cycles in age, Saela S'aris, had devoted a long life to sustainable colonization and proved a seemingly endless source of ideas.

By the time they all stood, breaking up the conversation with a promise to visit Tuchanka within the next couple of months, Wrex felt recharged, ready to explode into action. Only Samara's cool fingers on his arm reminded him that he still faced a great deal of opposition from all sides. Yes, he still needed to move slowly.

But for now, the quarians needed to be his focus. They'd be needed when the Reapers made their appearance. All the races would be.

 _Rahat!_ Just as he'd forgotten the quarians until Quarn reminded him …. He'd forgotten another race dying off somewhere in the galaxy. Reaching out, he touched the matriarch's sleeve, stopping her.

"I need to speak to you for a moment." He nodded to Samara and Quarn to go ahead. They needed to get to their ship and head for the Citadel now that they had the matriarch's support. "It's going to sound like a strange request."

Saela just lifted a brow and waited for him to speak, once again all haughty control and icy smooth expressions.

"Somewhere, I think it's close to hanar space, there is a race of people called the drell. Their planet is dying out from under them." He grunted and looked away from the keen-edged curiosity staring at him. "If we can find their planet, we could save lives."

The matriarch settled back down into her chair, waiting for Wrex to sit again before she spoke. "How do you know the conditions of a race of people no one has ever heard of?"

Wrex perched on the edge of the chaise. "I have my sources." He doubted she'd let him get away with that, but it was worth trying.

Saela smiled, a crooked, crafty smile. "I had a great aunt with sources. She met with a great deal of ridicule during her life, but I learned to listen to her." Her eyes narrowed, making her appear even more sly … enough to dig sharp claws into Wrex's belly. "I have several acolytes in my service who have expressed distaste with the sedentary, scholarly nature of life on Thessia." Tilting her head back, she raised her chin, staring at Wrex down her nose. "I could see my way to providing them with a small escort and a yacht to conduct a search."

Wrex laughed, the sound deep and resonant, a mountainside breaking up, boulders tumbling down its flanks. "And the price?"

Expression even and controlled, Saela tipped her head toward one shoulder, the slightest shrug. "Both a price and a boost to your cause." Wary eyes took in the room around them before focusing on him once more. Interesting, she wanted to make sure no one knew of her involvement in whatever it was. "There is an organization of batarian slavers operating near our oldest colony. They are sanctioned by the batarian government even though their cultural practice of slavery has been denounced by the council."

She swept the hotel lobby once more and then leaned a little closer. "They can enslave their own people all they want as far as I'm concerned, but they've been taking asari for the past couple of decades and just began hitting the outer turian colonies." She swallowed. "Last week, they snatched a dozen krogan off the Citadel and Omega. The republics are reluctant to cause waves with the council and the batarians."

She paused long enough for Wrex to brace himself. Not that he needed to be convinced to take out slavers preying on krogan. Although the council would never officially applaud the action for fear of distancing the batarian government, they'd still appreciate that someone had done their dirty work. In fact, it surprised him that they hadn't sent Spectres in when the turian attacks began.

Saela cleared her throat. "I want the entire organization torn down. I want the ground burned clean."

Wrex grinned, slow and fierce. "I can do that."

**1895 CE The Citadel (Four days later)**

"With respect, Councillors," Wrex said, stepping to the very edge of the platform, "if we exile our brothers and sisters for their mistakes, all we do is alienate them, ensuring that the only lesson they learn is resentment." He held the asari councillor's stare, weary of deliberation. Samara and his daughter awaited him at the end of their endless talk. "What else have the krogan learned? What will condemning the quarians to starve to death on Haratar teach them? Only that the galaxy cares nothing for the fate of their children."

"And what of council law?" the turian demanded. "The quarians were aware of council law regarding the development of artificial intelligence."

"We did not set out to flout council law," the quarian representative said, stepping up next to Wrex for the first time. At long last, some backbone supported his words, the mask of apology and contrition cracking. "We were creating virtual intelligence, machines to aid our people in doing manual labour. When we discovered how developed their neural network had become, we tried to shut them down before they achieved widespread consciousness."

"Which caused the war," Wrex added. "The quarians realize their mistake, and censuring them will only compound a new error on top of the old. The council's guidance and assistance is what they need."

The quarian stepped up. "Packed onto Haratar Station, my people are susceptible to starvation and disease in the short term. Our physicians and biologists are also concerned about long term effects of an artificial environment." Wringing his hands, the quarian seemed to reconsider the wisdom of taking a stand. "The environment of Cyone would allow my people to farm and eventually rebuild a community."

From behind him, Wrex heard a soft grunt then—

"Wrex?" Something in Samara's tone grabbed him by the quad and spun him around mid-sentence. She gave him a crooked sort of smile, then glanced down, stopping his hearts.

He scowled and gasped, confused. She'd pissed herself? Was she injured? Sick? They needed to get her to a doctor. They couldn't take any chances with her being so close to delivering their daughter.

Oh! _Rahat_! A wave of frantic, dizzy, nauseated realization swept over him, sending him stumbling, only Quarn's quick reflexes saving him from landing on his face. _Rahat_! His daughter was on her way. He'd barely been given enough time to realize that she was real—he still couldn't stop turning to stare at Samara's belly to be sure—and she was on her way.

Quarn pushed him in Samara's direction, shattering the ice freezing him to the supplicant's platform and his best friend. "Go on, you can freak out when she doesn't need you," Quarn said, his mandibles flicking hard. "You're a lucky _qisan_ , Urdnot Wrex."

Wrex half-ran, half-stumbled to Samara's side, his arm snaking around her waist to support her. "She's coming?" he asked, wincing at the obvious stupidity of the words. When Samara nodded, he leaned in, brushing her temple with the ridge of his crest before spinning to face the council.

"We're recessed for now," the asari councillor said, a kind, broad smile on her face. "Congratulations to you both. A wonderful day. We'll deliberate and reconvene in three days. Enjoy your _kaika_."

Wrex grunted his thanks, then turned to stare at Samara. After a moment he scooped her up, cradling her in his arms, and ran for the elevator, Quarn's laughter chasing them the entire way.

**1895 CE The Citadel 3 hours later**

_Rahat!_ Wrex hated hospitals. Samara screamed, a warrior's shout that made him jump every single time.

 _Rahat!_ Why did anyone do this? How had any of the species made it past the first few horror shows of tiny versions of themselves coming out in floods of screaming, blood, and slime?

He shifted next to Samara's bed, his eyes riveted on the graceful line of her neck, all the tendons bulging and tight. Only the pain of her hand crushing his made the entire ordeal tolerable; at least it made sense … a familiar anchor in a stormy sea as it washed his entire life away. He sniffed and then grunted. How could a place that saved lives smell so much like death? He leaned a little toward the stirrups that held Samara's feet up and spread, his eyes following the movement reluctantly, both curious and repulsed by the mess that the staff kept mopping away.

He braced his spine and glanced down. It made sense! He grinned as the thought broke through the helpless sort of panic. It made sense for blood to usher the daughter of a krogan into the galaxy. Straightening, he met Samara's eyes and grinned.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her free hand untangling from the fistful of sheets to brush his cheek.

Wrex nodded, managing a weak chuckle. "I'm krogan. It's just a little blood and hollering."

She opened her mouth to answer, but a scream came out instead. Curling tight, she crushed his hand in a grip that shouldn't have even been possible without hydraulics. The doctor's cheery voice coached Samara to push … something Wrex felt fairly sure she didn't need to be reminded to do. Maybe it was because in the end, the doctor felt as much a useless spectator as Wrex did.

The clan chief supported her with a hand behind her back, having learned an hour before not to push his luck by rubbing or massaging her while she pushed. Between contractions, she appreciated it; during, she became the ancient krogan goddess of evisceration and desecration.

" _Makah_?" The asari doctor's soothing voice made Wrex more tense rather than less, but it did seem to help Samara. Wrex caressed Samara's crest, the gesture seeming to help as she ground her teeth, harsh cries escaping her clenched jaw. " _Makah_?" That time the doctor got Wrex's full attention.

 _Makah_! Right! _Makah_ was the asari word for father. He gave the _nais_ a strained, toothy, almost aggressive grin. Couldn't they just get it over with? "What?"

"Do you want to catch your _kaika_?" The doctor stepped back away from the bed and held out a hand to usher him in.

Wrex felt the blood rush from his head and stumbled back a step, Samara's grip on his hand stopping him. Hands tingling, he looked from Samara's spread legs to the doctor and back, then to Samara's face and back. "No!" Panic punched him in the gut, driving the word out. "I can't."

The doctor chuckled. "You helped get her in there, seems fitting for you to help take her out." The _nais_ waved him in again. "Come on, I'll help."

Wrex looked to Samara, his stare frantic. Did she even want him to involve himself in that whole area? Could he ever look at it the way he had on their night together after the ….

"Wrex." Samara's voice broke through his panic. "She's your _kaika_. Her _makah's_ hands should be the first she knows."

His daughter. His hearts slowed, beating strong and steady. When Samara pushed him toward the foot of the bed, he stepped that way, allowing the doctor to guide him into position.

"Just hold your hands here," the doctor placed his hands. "See that?" She grinned when Wrex looked to her face. "That's the top of your baby's head."

Wrex turned back to stare at the tiny, ridged blue dome. Her head. Exalted fucking ancestors. He chuckled, a laugh of pure wonder, his head both lighter than air and boulder heavy at the same time.

"Okay, Samara, give us a good, strong push," the doctor directed.

The entire universe stilled, disappearing into a distant haze as Wrex watched Samara push his daughter from her body, and suddenly, she was there … his _kaika_ warm and slimy and more beautiful than anything he'd ever seen. Scarcely feeling the doctor's hands guiding him, he placed his baby on her mother's chest, reverent fingers caressing the delicate lines of her crest.

"Wrex?"

Samara's soft voice pulled him from his blissful memorization of the round cheeks and tiny, blue, reaching arms … the wide mouth hollering in protest at being shoved from her cozy home … the little round belly … her toes! _Rahat!_ Those tiny bean-toes and her fingers! He just wanted to nibble them! His hearts pressed against his chest wall, threatening to explode straight through bone and muscle and shell. Stepping around the bed, he returned to Samara's side.

Wrex stared into the gleaming, tear-washed blue of Samara's eyes for a moment before he embraced her. "Thank you," he said, suddenly understanding how the species had survived over time. Wasn't that perfect, beautiful little life worth any amount of pain?

"What's her name?" Samara asked, leaning into him, her eyes closing. Despite her fatigue, she glowed with a beauty that snatched his breath away as surely as their _kaika_ had. She sighed, a musical shudder of breath that sounded as victorious as it was content.

Her name? His daughter's name. Grin spreading until his cheek muscles began to ache, he thought about it for a moment. "She's beautiful. She needs a beautiful name." He traced his fingers down the little spine even as the nurses cleaned her off. Only one name contained enough beauty and meaning to grace his daughter. "Raxira?" He glanced to Samara for approval, loathe to take his eyes from the new life for even a moment.

"Urdnot Raxira," Samara repeated. "It's beautiful. Family name?" She stared down at their _kaika_ , caressing Raxira's tiny face.

"My mother's mother," Wrex confirmed. "One hell of a _qadin._ Spirit of a warrior with a kind heart and kinder hands."

The nurses finished cleaning and wrapped Raxira in a soft blanket, nestling her into Samara's arms.

"It's perfect," Samara said, leaning into his arm, their _kaika_ cradled between them.

Wrex rested a cheek against the top of Samara's head, his hand cupping the warm curve of his daughter's head, her crest delicate and fragile beneath his touch. "Perfect," he agreed.

_Our daughter._

_(A-N: And so Wrex becomes a papa. Did any of us doubt that he'd turn into a shell-covered marshmallow? I don't think so. :D As always, I love hearing from you, and thank you all so much for the support. *hugs*)_


	12. Chapter Twelve -- The Sound of the Other Shoe Dropping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Remind Mr. Udina that I'm not taking meetings today." For the fifth time. Despite his usefulness in that other life, the once ambassador seemed determined to make himself more trouble than he could ever be worth.

**CFC** \- Citadel First Contact Initiative

**CPF** \- Chinese People's Federation

**UNAS** \- United North American States

**AEU** \- Asian European Union

**AoN** \- Assembly of Nations

**January 15, 2149** **CE - Interplanetary Expeditions Inc., New Toronto/Buffalo District, Eastern North American Metropolis**

"Mr. Harper?"

Annoyance burned acid-sharp at the back of Jack's throat. What part of 'I'm not taking any calls or meetings' gave Troy so much trouble? Taking a deep breath and forcing his voice into an even camber, he turned away from the window to glance at the intercom. "What is it?"

As if he knew that his answer to the question could very well decide his employment status, Jack's assistant cleared his throat. "Sir, Representative Udina is asking for a few minutes of your time."

Too bad, saying Patricia or the girls were on the vid phone might have saved his job.

"Remind Mr. Udina that I'm not taking meetings today." _For the fifth time_. Despite his usefulness in that other life, the once ambassador seemed determined to make himself more trouble than he could ever be worth.

"Yes, sir. And, Mr. Acker left a message. I forwarded it to your terminal." The intercom closed; Troy knew better than to wait for a reply.

Jack glanced toward the vid screen on the wall to his left, the news anchor blathering on about the discovery of a third dead AoN inspector on Mars. The feed changed to a reporter standing inside the docking station at the UNAS dome. The image behind her showed flyover footage of IPE's much more impressive dome as she made sideways insinuations that the inspectors had been taken out to keep IPE secrets. He chuckled and shook his head as she managed to incriminate IPE without uttering the company's name even once: slippery and impressive.

He angled toward his computer. "Memo for the personnel office: offer ANN reporter Ms. Amelia Sadis a position with the CFC team."

Nothing the reporter said worried Jack. He'd made sure that the deaths couldn't be traced to his company. The inspectors' reports had all been registered with the AoN authorities, and the inspectors had moved on to other duties at the time of the accidents. Still, he felt the hand of time pressing down on him. The way IPE kept drawing media attention, they needed to go public, but had they accomplished enough? Were they far enough ahead? Had he slipped enough puzzle pieces into place to ensure that his team made it out into the galaxy first?

A long breath—pressure hissing through a relief valve—calmed the sudden storm. He'd brought the entire company together, positioning IPE perfectly to bypass the entire first contact fiasco. The war against the turians, short as it was, had cost Earth far too much: humanity's reputation amongst the other races perhaps the greatest of the casualties. He needed to do better, and the team he'd assembled would do better.

"Mr. Harper?" That time Troy didn't need to say what he wanted, Jack could hear Udina's strident voice through the door.

_Except, perhaps, for Mr. Donnel Udina_.

"Send him in." Jack turned to face the door, his shoulders set, back straight. Donnel Udina danced along the border between useful and retirement. One last chance, Jack decided as the door opened, the apologetic Troy peering through first to announce the representative. Answering with a sharp nod, Jack turned his attention to Udina. One last chance.

The representative stormed past Troy, saving the young man's job when he slammed him into the door. "Jack—"

"Apologize to my assistant," Jack said, cutting Udina off. When the representative just sputtered, Jack stiffened. "Now, Udina. Bulldozing over my people is not acceptable behaviour." It took more control than he wanted to admit, to keep himself from uttering a threat that he'd most certainly regret. How had he managed to be so wrong about Udina's younger self?

Instead of doing as Jack requested, Udina puffed up, straightening, his arms crossing over his chest. "I don't know who you think you are, but I'm—"

Jack clenched his jaw, then loosened up and nodded toward the chair in front of his desk. "Mr. Udina, I'm the man who is placing you in the second most important diplomatic position in human history before you reach the age of twenty-five." When Udina still made no move toward Troy or the chair, Jack closed the distance between them, as inexorable and unforgiving as death. "And the one who will not hesitate to find a replacement should you face retirement."

Udina paled. Jack's tone—while remaining civil and controlled—placed the emphasis on retirement with a precision that sent a thrill of pleasure roaring along his nervous system.

In his other life, the right cock of an eyebrow or tilt of his head accompanying the right, open-ended tone of voice had sent Udina scurrying to do as the Illusive Man wished, grateful for the opportunity. He once considered it crass to resort to even veiled threats. One of the benefits of years spent building his reputation and image. Without the salt and pepper hair and suits that reeked effortless, ruthless dignity—without the weight of the three-headed hellhound behind him—veiled threats and promises formed the rule.

After another pause that made Jack wonder if Udina intended to press his luck, the man glanced toward Troy and mumbled something that might have been an apology.

Jack nodded to the red-faced, uncomfortable young man at the door. "No further interruptions unless it's my family."

Troy bobbed in a motion that looked oddly like a curtsy then fled, the door closing too loud and hard behind him. Damn. His revamped schedule didn't leave any time to break in a new assistant, and the last two had quite literally broken. He glanced at the calendar; how many years remained before Miranda Lawson's birth?

"What is the cause of this intrusion, Mr. Udina?" Jack asked. Circling his desk, he stepped in front of his chair but didn't sit. Instead, he loomed, leaning forward to brace his knuckles against the polished granite.

The man gestured toward the vid monitor. "That. Three dead inspectors and an entire planetary assembly poised to investigate this company's malfeasance. There are monopoly laws, Mr. Harper. Laws I am more than certain you're breaking." He shifted in his chair then stiffened, sitting ramrod straight. "You've asked for a great deal of trust without giving us anything but a martian ruin and fairy tales as proof of your claims."

Jack nodded and sat, pulling himself up to the desk. He clasped his hands, knitting his fingers together, and placed his forearms in the precise center of the blotter before meeting Udina's petulant glare. "Then walk away." One shoulder lifted a little, but not enough to be called a shrug. "We'll find someone to fill your position. Someone grateful for the opportunity."

Udina jerked away as if slapped, sputtering a little before he managed to say, "Walk away? You owe me … you owe the planet an explanation about these ruins. You knew precisely where to look for them." Udina's hand shot up, slicing through Jack's reply. "No more stalling. No more lies. I want the truth."

Jack leaned back, his hands dropping to dig his fingertips into his thighs briefly before he draped them over the ends of his chair arms. "The truth, Mr. Udina, is that I am not what I appear. The truth goes deeper and far darker than you want to dive into. On that, you can trust me." When Udina opened his mouth, Jack shook his head. "This is your last chance to step up and take your place in the most important moment in the last two thousand years. We are months away from opening up the site to the entire planet, and just over a year away from launching out of our solar system to embrace the rest of the galaxy."

Relaxing down into the padded leather, Jack held Udina's gaze with a stare of pure steel. "I owe you nothing. I owe the planet nothing. I am charting a course to send humanity directly into a partnership with nearly a dozen major alien races. To get us there, I have spent the last six and a half years and my entire family fortune to preserve that site and develop the technology and infrastructure we'll need to make the leap out into the black."

Jack pushed himself up and walked around the desk, heading straight to the door. "This is not some criminal conspiracy, Mr. Udina; it's a service to humanity." He took a loud breath, declaring the discussion closed. "All you need to say before you leave this office is whether you intend to toe the line wherever I draw it or whether you want out."

Udina stood, making a show of carefully smoothing his suit jacket, his every move settling Jack's resolve. Allowing the other man a moment to collect himself, Jack simply waited, his hand on the knob. When Udina turned to face him, Jack knew the young man's decision had been made.

"The moment I leave this office, I will contact the AoN," Udina said, his voice cold and hard. "I will tell them everything. Killing me will not stop the news from spreading. You'll be finished by the end of the day." He strode toward the door, straight and proud.

"Taking a stand." Jack pressed his lips together in a tight smile as he nodded. "I respect that. I didn't expect it given our previous association, but I respect it." He opened the door, covering a broader smile as Udina preened a little despite the fear making his adam's apple jump like a coke-snorting cricket. "And I harbour no desire or intention to kill you. Good luck wherever you find yourself."

The moment the outer office door closed behind the politician, Jack sent Troy ducking down in his desk with a warning glance, then shut himself in. Sitting behind his computer, he opened a link to Anita Goyle. "You were right," he said the moment the woman's face appeared on his monitor. "Mr. Udina requires a retirement package." He didn't begrudge the soon-to-be ambassador the knowing smirk that crested the horizon before she wrestled it under control. She'd warned him that Udina didn't possess the correct temperament to assume a risk as large as the one before them.

Even in his former life, Udina had never truly possessed the disposition for politics, but his malleability proved useful. Jack pinned his hope on youth increasing that pliancy, but apparently Udina's spine had weakened with age.

"I'll get it done," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "I have a replacement in mind, a young man of considerable talent." Her mouth slanted into a smile that both twisted a fist in Jack's gut and confirmed he'd picked the right woman to lead the CFC Initiative. A woman of strict morals and a generous nature, she nonetheless possessed a spine of pure tungsten: both impossibly strong and deadly when it needed to be.

"It looks as though I'll be forced into unveiling the prothean site to the AoN within the next week. If we do need to accelerate our timetable, I want the faces behind the CFC initiative standing behind Bill and myself when we make the announcement." He leaned toward the computer ever so slightly, drawing her in. "They need to be globally trusted agents of humanity before we board that ship and head for Widow."

Successfully presenting humanity to the galaxy depended as much on how Earth viewed aliens as how the aliens viewed Earthers.

Goyle's expression fell straight into a glower. "We need those six months, Jack. I've just got the local shelter initiative up and running. It'll take at least three months to get them up in the rest of the cities." She shrugged, only one shoulder escaping her control before she slammed down the gates. "Not to mention that I've just managed to get the Apostolic See and three other of the religious seats to take my calls." A deep, frustrated sigh accompanied a stare that demanded he do better. "And now, Udina."

An inspired spark flared in the back of his head, one corner of Jack's mouth lifting in response. "I think I can buy us some time. Cancel Udina's retirement package." Two lifted fingers and a tilt of his head cut off her question. "It's best you remain at arm's length. I'll take care of Udina, but accelerate your agenda as quickly as you can, particularly with the religious leaders. Even if we manage to buy the full six months, we need them preparing to handle the reveal's fallout."

She nodded. "Do you mind if I tap Patricia?" Shrugging in the face of his sudden rigidity, she pressed on. Definitely a backbone of pure tungsten. Before he could deny her, she bulldozed forward. "She's a hell of a resource on this front, Jack. I know you want to keep them clear of the public eye, but accelerating things means using every means at my disposal."

Jack grumbled, every cell in his body screaming at him to just say no. He couldn't sacrifice his family, not again. Instead, he said, "You may approach her, but you agree to nothing until I get back to Mars to talk it through with you both."

Glancing at the security feeds on the right hand wall of his office, he saw that Udina remained in the elevator. He needed to work quickly. "Be ready to leave for Mars on my frigate tomorrow at nineteen hundred hours. I want a complete status report on the CFC Initiative." He offered the ambassador a quick nod as he closed the channel and opened one to his head of security.

"Ms. Yakani. Detain Mr. Udina for a security sweep when he exits elevator four on the ground floor, please. After he used the washroom in my office, he appeared to be under the influence of a controlled substance. Please check his inside jacket pocket and contents of his wallet for any sign of the substance."

"Any idea of what he might be using, sir?" The woman's focused, cold gaze defined the reptilian stare.

"Judging by his pupils and agitation level, he took that new designer drug giving the authorities so much trouble in the lower city. Ensure he gets out of the building before he endangers our employees." Jack lifted his hand to close the channel, trusting Yakani to do her job.

"Yes, sir." She blinked, not a wrinkle showing through her composure. Truth be told, she scared the shit out of him, but he'd ensured her loyalty over the years. "I'll keep an eye on him, make sure he gets to his vehicle. That drug—red sand, is it?—is notorious for causing erratic, even violent behaviour."

Jack nodded. "Thank you, I trust that you'll make sure Representative Udina is well looked after. He's been a trusted associate of IPE." Closing the channel, he let out a long, slow breath and turned to look up at the vid monitors, pointedly ignoring the disturbance that played out on the security feeds moments later.

Age, perception, and wealth definitely helped grease the wheels of power, but until he possessed his former reputation and standing, sometimes ruthless young bastard would have to do.

* * *

**January 17, 2149 CE - IPE Executive Frigate entering Mars orbit**

A heady rush of victory greeted the early morning headlines. Jack leaned back, the leather couch creaking a little beneath him as he crossed one knee over the other and rested his coffee mug on one knife-edged crease. The datapad in his hand settled onto his thigh as he watched the vid screen on the opposite wall above his desk.

Amelia Sadis stood off to one side of the North York Center for Rehabilitative Treatment's front doors, her perfectly coiffed and styled professionalism reflecting the exact firm but warm, face-you-can-trust, image Jack wished. She'd make the perfect face of the CFC Initiative, In fact, the opportunity so excited her that she'd only demanded two-thirds of the salary Jack had been prepared to offer.

" _AoN investigators continue to reveal startling evidence in the Donnel Udina case. The former AoN representative was arrested two days ago on drug charges after he became aggressive with Interplanetary Expeditions security and then police. Allegedly suffering from an overdose of a designer narcotic, Mr. Udina was treated at a local hospital before being remanded into rehabilitative care. Sources within the UNAS police department say that samples taken from Mr. Udina's clothing and belongings suggest that he was in possession of the purest form of the drug people are calling Red Sand._

" _Witnesses and evidence now coming from UNAS police on Mars indicates that the recent Red Sand outbreak in the New Toronto/Buffalo District of the Eastern North American Metropolis can be traced back to the former representative and several prominent members of a Martian based organized crime syndicate. Allegedly, connections between Udina, the Martian underworld, and three dead AoN inspectors surfaced late yesterday, but authorities will only say that their investigation is ongoing._

" _In regards to the former representative, police are not yet willing to make any statement other than that Mr. Udina is being treated for Red Sand exposure after creating a disturbance and assaulting several officers outside the IPE headquarters. ANN contacted the rehabilitation facility and was told that the former representative is resting comfortably._

" _Late yesterday, IPE CEO Bill Acker, released a statement, saying: 'Interplanetary Expeditions is greatly saddened and concerned by the incident that occurred on IPE property January 15th. Donnel Udina has been an important and valued member of our Humanitarian Pursuits Division for the past several months. We wish him all the best during his recovery and hope to see him back, serving the people of Earth as soon as he is able.'" She made steady eye contact with the camera for a moment before signing off. "Amelia Sadis, ANN, New Toronto/Buffalo District."_

"I bow to the master," Goyle said from the door of Jack's office, interrupting the complicated brew of emotions that accompanied his machinations achieving at least initial success. She shook her head, entering when he waved her over the threshold. "I admit, I didn't see you pulling anything quite so ruthless out of your bag of tricks, but even if Udina manages to wiggle out of this quagmire, it will be months before anyone starts trying to tie the dead inspectors back to IPE."

Leaning against the divider between his living quarters and office, she placed neatly folded knuckles on her hip. "Crisis averted."

His gaze on his coffee, Jack blew ripples across the dark surface before taking a sip. "I'm not sure the distraction will allow us to reveal the site on our initial timetable, but at least I'm not standing before the AoN today, saying, 'Guess what, everyone we found an ancient alien research center on Mars.'" He chuckled and nodded toward the seat at his desk. "Take a seat. We've got three hours until we dock with the station; we can go over at least some of the business I want to cover."

Goyle sat and bent down to lean her briefcase against the chair. Slipping one elegant, long-fingered hand into the zipper, she withdrew three datapads. Straightening, she composed herself like a sculptor moulding clay, a process that Jack always watched with a combination of amusement and awe. He wondered if the woman ever granted herself a solitary, unguarded, unrehearsed moment.

"I spoke with Patricia yesterday, just to lay out the ways I thought she could help the initiative plan our moves when it comes to bringing the religious leaders on board." Goyle made a soft, disgruntled sound.

"And her answer?" Jack cocked an eyebrow, his head tipping precisely three degrees to one side. He didn't so much mind Patricia assisting IPE's endeavours within the scope of the initiative as long as she and the girls remained private figures. No one would come gunning for him through them. Alone, the grieving widower who worked twenty-one hours a day, running on cigarettes and bourbon, having a public private life worked to his advantage. His current private life amounted to something much different.

Goyle shifted a little in her chair, her chewing-on-an-orange-rind expression adding a hint of lemon. "She told me that worldwide religious hysteria was not a game or something we just needed to spin to our advantage."

Jack allowed a half-smile, but otherwise remained statue-still.

"You knew that would be her answer." Goyle let out a rumbling, disgusted sort of sigh. "I thought you weren't going to play games with me, Jack." She changed knees, sorting the pleat in her slacks to the center of her kneecap once the leg hooked over the other.

"I'm not playing games, I simply allowed you to discover who and what you're dealing with if you choose to include my wife in the initiative." He dropped his foot to the floor and leaned forward, forearms braced against his thighs, the mug of rapidly cooling coffee held between his hands. "People think Patricia simple and easy to manipulate because of her insistence in believing in an old fashioned school of thought." Lifting his eyebrow a little more as Goyle's cheeks coloured, he nodded. "She is, in fact, the most intelligent, logical-minded woman I have ever met … save perhaps one."

"So you just set me up?" Goyle folded her hands over the datapads balanced on her leg, the disgust bleeding from her stare to leave behind an almost vulnerable frustration. "You let me ask so that she could shoot me down? Why waste my time? We're on a schedule that will require miracles to meet."

"Quite the contrary." His second eyebrow lifted to match the first. "I allowed you to ask her so that you would learn what tack you've got to take to bring the religious community—any of it—into line." The fact that Patricia's response hadn't given Goyle the answer to the bigger question worried him. He hadn't thought the ambassador that dense or lacking so much imagination.

He sat up, took a sip of the coffee, then set it down on his desk, the ceramic ringing softly against the metal. Bare metal. Hmmm … he should have the design team refit his cabin to better reflect his position. Anyway, back to the topic. "The threat of panic when we reveal the certainty of alien life is the greatest one we face. Riots, mass destruction, doomsday cults, suicides: they're just the tip of the iceberg sitting dead center in our path." Fingertips around the rim turned the mug until the handle lined up perfectly parallel to the edge of the desktop. "It isn't a game. It is a real danger that needs sincerity to bypass. Patricia will make an ideal ally not because she is simple, but because of the absolute sincerity of her beliefs." The left side of his mouth twitched a little. "Her brutal honesty won't hurt either."

Goyle leaned back, blowing a long, heavy breath out her nose. Thoughtful, she took a full two minutes and forty-eight seconds to consider his words before she spoke. "Do you think Patricia would be willing to be the head of the spear?"

Jack shrugged, the satin lining of his suit jacket whispering over his silk shirt. "That is a question for Patricia, but again, I remind you: she and my children are not to become public figures. All that panic doesn't get even the smallest opening to blow back on my family."

Goyle nodded, all frustration vanished from her face. "I won't put them in the crosshairs, Jack. That I promise."

"Excellent." He held out a hand to take the datapads from her. "How are we doing working out using the relay to transit communications?"

* * *

**January 17, 2149 CE - IPE Friendship Dome, The Deseado Crater,** **Mars**

The echoing banging of doors bouncing off walls and pounding feet greeted Jack the moment he closed the front door. Two blonde, ten-year-old, squealing balls of energy flew at him, followed closely by Matthew's shorter legs and awkward gate.

"Daddy!" Megan and Rachel threw their arms around his neck, Matt elbowing his way in between them to grab him around the waist. "You're home early!"

Jack dropped his briefcase onto the marble floor and drew both his girls into tight hugs, kissing them on the cheek. "I couldn't wait any longer to see my Starshine …" He gave Rachel's cheek a more whiskery kiss. "... or my Sunshine."

Megan squealed and pushed away from his bristly kiss. "Daddy! You're silly."

Extricating himself from the tight embrace of his girls, he lifted Matthew into his arms. "I think the three of you are silly." Pulling his head back on his neck, he met his son's giggly stare. "What do you think, Big Matt?"

The boy shrugged and planted a wet kiss on Jack's cheek. "You're home," he said as if nothing else mattered, the innocent love and joy buoying Jack's lagging energy.

Truly, nothing beat returning home after a long week away.

Wriggling, Matt tried to scramble down, only stilling for a second as Jack kissed him. When his feet hit the floor, he latched onto his daddy's hand with both of his little ones, tugging him toward the front room. "Come see what I built. Come."

"Save me!" Jack snagged Rachel as Matt pulled him past the girls, putting up just enough resistance to make the tug of war fun as he followed. "What is this majestic creation? Did you invent a new car?"

"No." Matt's giggle took on that delightfully maniacal note that only sounded delightful coming from a child. If any of his friends or employees cackled like that, he'd have them locked up.

Jack screwed his face up into his best, most thoughtful mask. "Is iiiiiiiiiiiit a cow?"

Both girls and Matt groaned. "You've always been terrible at guessing, Daddy." Megan trotted past them, the frilly pink skirt—a choice she'd yet to grow out of—swirling around her knees. "You guessed that the book we gave you last Christmas was an old fashioned hand pump for water."

"At least I didn't think it was that oil well I asked for." Shrugging, Jack pulled Rachel in tighter against his side. "What? I've always wanted one of those hand pumps. Think of the freedom. We could dig ourselves a well out in the backyard and have water even when the power goes out."

"On Mars?" Patricia stepped into the doorway, turning sideways to let the kids race past when they released their father, fleeing before the kissing started. "That's going to be one seriously deep well, Mr. Harper." A teasing smile brightened her face, transforming her beauty into something so radiant that it snatched the air right out of his lungs.

"It'll help me keep fit," he replied, patting his stomach. "I need something when I'm married to someone who doubles as a master chef." Two steps closed the distance between them. Jack let out a long, shuddering breath as he slipped his arms around his wife's waist and drew her in tight against him. Nuzzling into her hair, he breathed her in deep, savouring her warmth, softness, and unique perfume. After the nearly seven years since his life reboot, he still cherished every reunion as if it were the first; the gift untarnished by time and familiarity. The reboot was a gift, the greatest he could ever imagine being given, and he renewed his oath to treasure every moment each night before he fell asleep.

Patricia drew back far enough to press her lips to his, their kiss deepening until obnoxious groaning and retching noises broke them apart. Chuckling, Jack drew his wife into his embrace again.

"You know," she said, twisting to look over her shoulder at their children, "you three all owe your very existence to your father's kisses." Laughing bright and sharp at the chorus of 'Gross, Mooooommmm' that followed, she nestled her head beneath Jack's chin. After more than a minute, she let out a soft sigh and drew back. "You'd better take a look at Matt's invention. He's very proud, and rightfully so." She took Jack's hand to lead him into the room. "He's his Daddy's son."

Spread out over the carpet in front of the door to the patio, sat a massive construction built out of Lego. Ships of several different types lined up along a series of runways and inside a hangar.

Matt beamed up at him. "See, Daddy, it's a spaceport." He grabbed one of the ships and launched it down one of the runways into the upper atmosphere. "Ships from here go out to the relay and then … whoooooosh … to other places way out in the stars."

Jack released Patricia's hand and crouched down next to the marvel. Good lord, but his children never ceased to amaze him. "This is brilliant, Big Matt." He pointed to one of the ships, the design clearly one of IPE's corvettes. "What's that one?"

"It's a scout ship." Matt landed his current vehicle and picked up the corvette. "It goes out to make sure there are no bad people before the big house ships go out." Soaring around the room, he made pew-pewing sounds, opening fire on the bad people.

"Who are the bad people?" Jack chose one of the house ships, turning it over to admire the detail.

"Pirates like in the movies."

Pride dropped a small frigate on Jack's heart. Not aliens or even bad aliens, but pirates. He looked up, Patricia's clear, emerald gaze met his, shining with the same awe he felt.

The backs of her fingers brushed his cheek, her rings a cool sliver through her warmth. "You're raising citizens of a larger galaxy, my dear."

Shaking his head when words failed him, Jack turned back to the ship in his hand. It's design mimicked IPE's colony ships, boasting solar collectors and shield emitters. Frowning, he tapped small protrusions on the dorsal and ventral hull, both front and back. "Hey, Big Matt, what are these?"

"Point defense, Daddy," he answered, blithely sailing past, shooting up a storm. "In case the bad guys take out the scout ships, it can _pew-pew_ and _boooooooooom_ the missiles until the captain can punch the eff tee el." He enacted the pitch battle and desperate escape in grand gestures.

Blown away for the second time in under five minutes, Jack reached out, snagging his son with one arm. He reeled in the wriggling ball of energy, planting a kiss on Matt's temple. "This is all amazing, Big Matt. Just amazing." He settled the rest of the way down onto the floor, letting the calm, simple bliss of his family ease the stress and worries of his long week on Earth. They always felt twice as long as the same period of time on Mars.

"Come help me with dinner?" Patricia asked several minutes later, one long-fingered, calloused hand gripping his shoulder. She squeezed and then rubbed the slope between his neck and shoulder. "You're so tense. Come talk to me, at least. I've been watching the news all week, wondering what's going on." She bent to kiss his ear. "The downside to the 'no business talk on family calls' policy."

Jack levered himself up off the floor and took her hand, pulling her up into his arms. "I'll run through the shower, change, and then join you in the kitchen." Leaning in, he kissed her, lips that felt like satin and tasted of—he closed his eyes—raspberries and tea brushing his, chaste as the day was long in the presence of their children. Breaking the embrace, he slipped his hands a little lower and pressed in against her ear, pitching his voice low and throaty. "I'm looking forward to the R-rated version of that in a few hours."

Laughing, Patricia pulled away, swatting him on the hip as she spun and strutted toward the kitchen. "Hmmm, thinking you're going to get lucky, are you?" She cast a grin back over her shoulder and added a little extra swing to her steps.

He watched after her, his smile evaporating. "I'm already the luckiest man alive."

* * *

(A-N: Thanks to everyone who supports this story. I appreciate it so very much whether it's through reviews or silently reading along. Reviews and comments are always appreciated, I love getting the chance to chat with you fantastic people. *hugs to those who like hugs*)


	13. Chapter Thirteen -- A Blazing Knife in the Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stretching until both shoulders cracked and his spine chirped like a rock gnur, Wrex took a deep breath of free air. As much pride as he felt in the gikgah's transformation—a city and a work of art—sometimes the walls crashed in on him, altogether too close. In the early days, he'd spent too much time taking down assassins and rival clans to feel caged in. Taking a massive breath of the dry, dusty air, he grinned up into the wide open sky. As necessary as his diplomatic and managerial work remained, sometimes he just needed to charge out into the sand and kill things.

Makah - (asari) The non-bearing parent.

Hinah - (asari) The bearing parent.

Kaika - (asari) Daughter.

Gikgah - (krogan) Ancient, ziggurat-like temple structures.

Gnur: (krogan) (pronounced nur) A tuchankan insect boasting twelve legs and covered in chitinous shell that make a creaking, chirping sound when it runs.

Rahat - (krogan) Shit, feces, excrement.

Sikah - (krogan) A ritual dagger made from the tooth of a thresher maw awarded to young krogan after the rite of passage.

Torin - (turian) Man

Pari - (turian) equivalent to dad

Mari - (turian) equivalent to mom

Morumplacus - (turian) Restless spirit, undead, ghoul.

**1915 CE The Kelphic Valley, Tuchanka ( 20 years later )**

Wrex dropped the three hundred kilo varren onto the floor of the cave. Letting out a contented growl, he surveyed their campsite. Unable to hunt burdened by tents and all the supplies needed to keep three kids and Quarn—mostly Quarn—alive and happy for a week, Wrex counted on Samara and Quarn's bondmate, Malani, to shuttle the gear to their winter campsite. He'd expected the females to leave everything packed in the back of the shallow cave, but instead his pack of fearsome hunters arrived to find the tents up and the camp organized. All he and the pups needed to do was light the fire and dress their kill.

Stretching until both shoulders cracked and his spine chirped like a rock gnur, Wrex took a deep breath of free air. As much pride as he felt in the gikgah's transformation—a city and a work of art—sometimes the walls crashed in on him, altogether too close. In the early days, he'd spent too much time taking down assassins and rival clans to feel caged in. Taking a massive breath of the dry, dusty air, he grinned up into the wide open sky. As necessary as his diplomatic and managerial work remained, sometimes he just needed to charge out into the sand and kill things.

Quarn made a show of yawning as he stretched, the motion ending with a heavy arm clamped around his daughter, Prilla's shoulders. "Dear spirits, I'm a half metre and two degrees from being dead. Hold me up, Pri."

"Get off, you big baby," Prilla scolded, grinning as she tried to shrug off her father's weight. "I don't know what you're complaining about, Mari and Aunt Samara already set the camp up for us. All we have to do is light the fire and cook the food."

Wrex turned away from the vista to elbow his friend. "I thought you were the one with a good century left ahead of him?"

Quarn chuffed and wrapped his free arm around his son. "That was before I fell in love and these two crazy people decided to come into the galaxy at the same time." His mandibles dropped, a teasing pout. "Any decent children would've been born one at a time, and let me ease into being a father."

Wrex let out a low, rumbling laugh when Prilla interrupted Quarn's performance, pressing her brow to her father's. "Awwww, poor Pari. He's so very hard done by. Can I carry you to your cot?"

Wrex laughed, warmth mixing with humour and freedom to form an intoxicating brew. No one could claim Quarn's pups hadn't come by their smart-ass sarcasm honestly.

Durrien, Quarn's son, let out a rude burping sort of chuff. "Don't coddle him, Pri, or we'll have to hear the horror stories about the first time we threw up on him and all the times we smeared tarc on his face." The teenager flicked his mandibles as he spun to face Raxi. "Come on, we can go find fuel for the fire so the poor old torin can warm his ancient bones."

Ridiculous, as always, Quarn clutched his keel and stumbled back into Prilla. "Oh, the betrayal. Your brother has broken my heart." He clutched at her armour. "Hold me."

Instead, she gave him a shove, an aggrieved sigh accompanying a wide, cheery mandible flick. "I swear, we're the parents." She laughed and spun to holler after the other two. "Raxi! Durrien! Wait for me."

Wrex coughed, low and gruff, a hearty slap sending Quarn stumbling. "You're pathetic. Your pups have bigger quads than you do."

"Even me?" Prilla asked, a bright, sharp spear that gleamed brighter than Aralakh as it fought the coming darkness.

Wrex gripped the youngster's shoulder, his growl fierce with love and respect. "Especially you. Pure fire flows through your veins." His rumble deepened, burrowing down into his chest when Prilla pressed her brow to his.

Turning away, Wrex cleared his throat, blinking away the prickle in the corners of his eyes. "One of you shoot your pari. Put him out of our misery while I check in with Urdnot."

Raxi spun to face him, walking backwards. "Make sure to tell Hinah how insanely huge my kill is." She punctuated the size of the alpha varren she'd shot by throwing her arms wide.

Wrex looked down at the massive carcass, pride detonating like a grenade beneath his chest plate. Raxi might look asari, but a heart of pure krogan strength pounded inside her chest. "I'll tell her to come eat with us, and you can show her."

He turned to look out over the valley. The endless wind dropped along with the sun, the sand settling to show a clear view all the way to the edge of the ancient city. Even though they'd spent more than a century cleaning away and recycling the past, they'd need another two or three to completely reclaim the valley. They'd never tame it, but he didn't want to tame Tuchanka or its people. No, he'd fight to the death to allow his people and his planet to remain wild and dangerous even as they joined the galactic community.

Opening a channel, he glanced over at the firepit. The acrid stink of klixen accelerant-laced smoke sliced at his airways. He cleared his throat, but "Samara" still came out like a croak when the asari matron answered the call.

"Wrex. Is everything all right?" Samara demanded right out of the gate. "Raxi's not hurt?"

Wrex coughed and then chuckled. "No, she's fine." His words burned hot and bright as they crossed his tongue. "She brought down an alpha varren. Single headshot." An unexpected silence answered that news. "Samara?"

The asari hesitated for another couple of seconds before she said, "It may be nothing, but Uvenk pulled out about an hour ago with half his warriors." She cleared her throat. "When he left, Malani and I went to their section of the gikgah. The Gatatog females claimed to know nothing about his departure." She hesitated. "He may just be returning to his clan holding on business, but something feels off."

"The rest of his warriors?" Wrex demanded. As much as she tried to dismiss the evacuation, Samara didn't succumb to hysteria or her imagination. Barbed wire sliced his throat bloody with every breath. After fighting off Gatatog Uvenk's assassins for more than a century, he just knew, a malign canker forming in the back of his throat to warn him the bastard intended to make another attempt.

"They're gathered in squads around the spaceport, training grounds, and their barracks."

Wrex grunted, wrestling with the wisdom of returning to the gikgah. No, he'd deal with that threat as he had with each of the previous ones. "Get two squads on each of Gatatog's, but keep them out of sight. Don't make any moves unless they do." He looked to Quarn, the torin's stare fixed on him, all playfulness gone, replaced by taut wariness.

"They're coming after you," she said, a statement of fact.

"Or the bomb." Rahat! Fear sliced through the rage. How could Uvenk have found out about the bomb? They'd spent a century clearing their way through the city to the site where the turians planted their doomsday weapon at the end of the rebellions. He'd been careful to do nothing to make the site seem more of a priority than any other and then built the massive shell of a stadium above it to hide the bomb's excavation. "It's no coincidence. Bakara's team pulled the device out of the hole today."

Not wanting to frighten the pups, he reined in his alarm, forcing his jaw and neck muscles to relax. Still, his stomach churned as quickly as his thoughts. Despite attracting unwanted attention, he should have overseen the bomb's extraction and disposal himself. He glanced over where Raxi and Durrien worked on the fire, guilt and dread tearing at him like varren fighting over scraps.

"It might be nothing," Samara said, her voice calm and reasonable. "As I said, most of his people are still here." A noisy breath crackled over the connection. "I'll let you contact Bakara." The asari paused, tension vibrating through the dead air. "Be careful, and tell Raxi to take vid. I want to see that kill."

Wrex chuckled, the sound originating in his gut and cutting more virulently than the klixen-laced smoke. "Look after our people." When the channel closed, he switched channels to Urdnot Bakara, the female in charge of security at the bomb site.

* * *

The fire snapped loud enough to echo off the hills, a shower of sparks rocketing into the sky. Wrex grinned at the three youngsters when they jumped, spinning to search the dark surrounding their camp. Luckily, the monsters spooking his daughter and Quarn's two offspring remained imaginary.

He couldn't say the same for the ones skulking in the back of his head, and his hand shifted to his shotgun for a half second before he forced it back to his thigh. Focusing on the people inside the bright ring of firelight, he asked, "What do you think is out there?" He cocked a brow at Quarn, his chuckle throaty and rough, a boot crunching gravel. "Monsters?"

Stone rattled over rock beyond the fire. Wrex snapped rigid until he heard the chirps of gnur scuttling around, searching for scraps of varren. He let out his held breath and nodded when Quarn rumbled a soft warning. Bakara reported no sign of attack at the bomb site, and so far no enemies had appeared to threaten his pup. His instinct might just be off, and Uvenk left the gikgah on business. If Wrex spent the night jumping up to cover Raxi and shooting rounds at everything that bumped out in the darkness, he'd just end up terrifying everyone. Slumping, he forced his attention back where it belonged.

"Definitely monsters," Quarn answered. He looked to either side, gaze darting and hunted, his mandibles flaring. Talons curled, poised to rip his two children to shreds, he lifted in his seat, looming over them. "Probably morumplacus." Despite the torin's playfulness, worry clouded Quarn's eyes.

Wrex turned a smartass gaze to where his daughter sat in her camp chair, absently poking at the fire with a stick. "Raxi?" She wouldn't be able to resist getting the two turians wound up, but in so doing, she'd keep their minds on fun. Rahat, Raxi was definitely his daughter. Samara frequently glared at him in a manner that screamed, 'This is all your fault. Our daughter is a product of your influence.' Despite being meant to chastise him, the claim filled him with emotions he'd never experienced prior to helping bring that tiny bundle of attitude into the galaxy.

He still didn't know how to label all the things Raxi made him feel, his love throwing him back and forth between terror, adoration, frustration, and awe. All he knew was that he wouldn't go back to his old life for anything.

And anyone who threatened her wouldn't live long enough to make a move. Glancing over his shoulder, he waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, his hand returning to his shotgun.

Raxi grinned at him, her stare turning him back around, brilliant blue eyes sparkling in the firelight. "Monsters for sure, Makah." A quick, considering breath puffed in and out between her lips. "Possibly klixen, although they cluster together in their nest during the cold hours." She cocked her head, sending a sly grin slicing over the fire at Prilla. "Maybe varren, but they wouldn't come close to the fire … the klixen accelerant drives them off."

Wrex chuckled as his daughter's voice lowered, her gaze darting around the fire as if attack could come from anywhere. Raxi possessed the soul of a storyteller. Uncovering ancient krogan history and lore ranked chief among her passions, her enthusiasm shining brighter than the fire.

"Maybe it's something worse … something bigger and scarier than anything we can imagine," she continued. "The ancients worshipped a giant, winged god named Niraxahk." She nodded to her audience. "That's right, our home is named for it. Niraxahk demanded the ancients leave blood sacrifices to appease it." She paused, staring into the fire, gulping a couple of times as if she found the story too horrifying to continue. "So the people left offerings of the strongest alpha varren, juvenile thresher maws, anything that proved how much they risked to pay homage to the god."

At least playing into the story gave Wrex an excuse to keep checking the dark.

When she spoke again, Raxi's voice deepened, hesitant and low, drawing the turians in to hear her. The air pressed down, sealing them inside a bubble woven from her words. "When times were hard," she whispered, "and the hunting became too poor for the ancients to leave sacrifices, they'd hear Niraxahk roar in its rage. Furious at being denied its oblations, it flew over the gikgahs, stealing only the most loved, most beautiful, and most favoured pups."

She leaned in, her stick stilling in the fire. "When it got them back to the cave, it used a single claw to sever their spinal cords so they were alive but paralyzed … " Her voice dropped to a pitch that pulled the darkness even closer to the fire. "... because it liked its prey alive and screaming while it ate."

Wrex smothered a chuckle at the set of the turian teenagers' mandibles, their bodies nearly buzzing with anticipation and dread. As much as he admired her skill at the hunt, his Raxi needed to devote herself to something creative and dramatic, something to challenge that keen mind. Anything else would waste her gifts.

His daughter held up a finger then pointed to her tympanic membrane. "Do you hear that?" she whispered.

Wrex swallowed, hoping the action made up part of her tale. Though young, she possessed two decades worth of senses and reflexes honed by hunting at her parents' sides. It wouldn't surprise him if she heard stealthy footsteps out on the dark sand.

Durrien, Quarn's youngest cocked his head, his mandibles flicking hard. "Hear what? It's almost silent." Only the crackle of the fire and the whisper of the wind disturbed the quiet.

Raxi nodded, her eyes wide, pupils eating up most of the iris. "Exactly." Her breathing sped up, and she stood, turning to look out into the night. Brandishing her stick, she backed closer to the fire. "They say Niraxahk is so fearsome that all life stills ahead of its approach." She bent to pick up a large stone, brandishing the weapon with murderous intent. "It could be out there right now, circling overhead." She turned a fierce gaze to the sky.

A breath shuddered down her throat, her entire body tense and trembling. "If it wants blood, where better than a small group … only two real fighters and three beautiful, favourite offspring." She backed another step closer to the fire. "It could grab one of us and be gone before our makahs fired a shot."

Edging around the fire, she shot a quick, frantic glare at Wrex. "Why aren't you and Uncle Decan getting your guns ready?" Her face twisted in terror. "You want us to get eaten. That's why you brought us out here!" She spun and grabbed Prilla, dragging the poor youngster up off her stool to use as a living shield. "This is why you didn't invite Hinah to come eat with us!" Her voice rose to a level of shrill she usually saved for protesting chores or grounding. "Well, it's not going to take me. I won't let it."

Scoffing, Durrien reached over to pull his sister back onto her seat. "Nice try, Raxi. I think we're all a little old to fall for your tall tales." He chuffed, the grown up sound squeaking like a rusty hinge through the youngster's undeveloped larynx. Wrex grinned, disguising his amusement behind a hand and a rough growl.

"Think what you will," Raxi said, her voice trembling. "But I'm not going to let it get me." She spun toward the sound of a distant, high-pitched roar. "You two can either—"

Quarn jumped up off his seat, roaring loud enough to bring down mountains as he grabbed his children in a tight embrace. Their shrieks shattered the peaceful night sky, the echoes dying off in the distance before realization dropped terror down to anger and incrimination and then eventually to laughter.

"Pari!" Prilla let out a resonant half bellow, half laugh. "You jerk!" She turned and slapped his chest, then dug in under his arm, clinging to her father like a newborn pup.

Wrex chuckled at the delight Raxi took in her friends' fear. As much as the asari claimed that their offspring didn't inherit traits from their fathers, Wrex knew his daughter took after him in a major way. And rahat … how he loved his smartass pup. He winked at her across the fire, a crooked smile and an open arm inviting her over into his embrace.

A warm, rolling laugh answered his summons as Raxi strode around the fire. She sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around him. "I was expecting you to come in with the big finish," she said, the soft drum of her heart thumping hard and fast enough to hear in the quiet.

"Then I wouldn't have been able to watch you jump out of your hide." He nuzzled her cheek. "Where's the fun in that?"

"You're terrible." Raxi leaned into his embrace for a moment before stiffening and pulling away, her eyes searching the night. "Did you hear that?" She looked into his eyes, no sign of teasing in those intense fields of blue. "It sounded like krogan trying to be sneaky."

Wrex nodded, chuckling to cover the klixen trap that snapped shut around his heart. One happy day his instincts and paranoid would be proven wrong. "I heard it. Probably bodyguards working for Barl."

Quarn chuckled, no sign of humour touching his eyes as his mandibles clenched against his mouth. His stare bored into Wrex until he turned to press his brow to his daughter's. "Leave it to Barl to find a way around his orders to stay at the arena build."

"All right, mighty hunters, get yourselves into your tent," Wrex said, lifting Raxi off his knee. Planting his hands against his thighs, he heaved himself up off his stone chair. "We've got an early start."

Quarn embraced his children, touching brows before sending them to the large tent they shared with Raxi. "If you keep us up all night giggling, we'll use you as bait tomorrow." Instead of showing fear, all three of them giggled like maniacs, mocking the torin's threat.

Wrex turned to stare out into the dark, moving close enough to the edge that the fire stopped blinding him. "Don't make me come in there, or you'll wish for Niraxahk's mercy"

"Oooooo, so scary," Raxi called, sticking her head out through the flap. "Uncle Decan is scarier than you are." She grinned, so wide and joyous and free that Wrex's heart skipped a handful of beats. She wrinkled her nose at him then ducked inside before he could find something suitably rude to hurl back at her.

Once the pups moved out of earshot, Wrex beckoned to Quarn. "We have movement downslope. Keep watch to the south with your thermal scope. I'll guard the east," he whispered when Quarn stepped up beside him. He paused, hearing movement: the light clatter of rolling pebbles. "They'll be cautious … won't come at us until they think we're asleep."

"Cowards." Quarn nodded at the fire. "I'll bank the coals then turn on the lantern in the tent."

Wrex nodded, rage burning hotter than the embers of their fire. How dare Uvenk come at him with Raxi and Quarn's kids in tow? A more dishonorable bastard had yet to crawl out of their mother's egg pouch.

"Do you have a plan?" The turian cleared his throat. "Should we take the kids home?"

Wrex shook his head, a soft growl venting enough of his frustration to avoid an explosion. He'd be nine days dead before one of those cowards chased him or his pup into a hole. And … as much as he joked about Quarn, the torin hadn't been appointed to head the CDEM troops out of charity; he'd risen through the ranks thanks to deadly skill. "The cave protects our pups on three sides, and we won't let Uvenk's bastard get that far."

Quarn's subvocals rumbled low and menacing in agreement as he spun and strode to the fire. Wrex understood; it took all of his self-control to retreat into the tent without roaring out a challenge that they'd hear all the way back at Urdnot.

He needed a plan.

Wrex sat on the side of his cot facing the tent wall, the light at his back and turned low to obscure his shadow. Finally able to pull his thermal scope from his belt pouch, he surveyed the gradual slope of the mountain's base. Six krogan heat signatures stood out in bright shades of red and yellow directly below his position, five more lurking twenty metres further south. Mind racing, he searched for a way to attack that didn't result in either enemy warriors or flying bullets inside their camp.

You know, Shepard, I could really use your ornery ass at my six, and you don't even have the decency to crawl out of your mother for another two and a half centuries.

He forced his jaws apart, his tongue screaming where he'd held it clamped between his teeth, and took a deep breath, faking a yawn. Shepard ... . A picture appeared through his rage and frustration: the commander and Vakarian in some forsaken warehouse on some backwater planet, the two snipers climbing up piles of crates to take positions high in the rafters. A wild, genuine grin spread across Wrex's face. Damn if she hadn't found a way to help him despite the two hundred and fifty cycle chasm between them.

He bent down, reaching under his rack to pull out his gun case. After he purchased the rifle, Barl and the rest of his krantt teased him mercilessly, asking him if he was too afraid to meet his enemies face to face. Even Quarn tortured him about having spent too much time with turians. He hadn't been sure why he bought the damned thing, chalking it up to becoming sentimental in his youth.

As he withdrew the sniper rifle from the case—making sure to keep it in the shadow of his cot—he knew: he'd bought it for that night. He attached its infrared scope, silencer, and incendiary ammo, then set it down on the case.

Quarn ducked under the flap, hesitating for a moment when he saw the sniper rifle. Realization settled into his stare, his mandibles flicking once. Nodding, the commander continued inside and activated the shield emitter. He sat on his cot then turned toward one of the covered windows and bellowed, "Do you three have your tent shields up?"

"Yes, Pari!" all three of them chimed, breaking into fits of maniacal laughter that reached down into Wrex's gut and yanked.

"Shut up over there before I feed you to a maw." He answered their insane cackling with a guttural—and disgustingly fragrant—chuff-belch combination. Damn, but he loved those three idiots.

Quarn chuckled and stretched out on his cot, lying on his side on top of his blankets, letting out what sounded like a real yawn. "Long day under a hot sun." The turian sorted and thumped at his pillows. "I'm getting too old to keep up with a couple of teenagers. Next trip, Malani can take them."

Wrex scoffed. Tougher and more serious than her husband, Quarn's sharp, fierce mate loved the hunt, and endured far more arduous conditions without a whisper of complaint. When she and Samara set up the tents, Malani left a note for Quarn on stack of pillows. It read: 'For my beloved's poor, tender fringe and aching muscles'.

"What are you complaining about, Mr. Seven-Pillows? You've got two cycles before your two are in the academy on Palaven. I've got thirty or forty before mine drags her giant brain off to university." As he said it, he shook his head, dreading that day despite his grousing.

It terrified him to think of how quickly the twenty cycles since Raxi's birth had flown past. If the next thirty cycles flew by at the same speed, she'd be gone long before he had a chance to prepare.

Who are you trying to fool? You'll never be prepared for her to leave home.

The clan chief focused down the length of his scope, watching the krogan-shaped heat signatures lurk seventy-five metres downslope, his mind still on his daughter and the future. Shepard would meet Raxi … see the brilliant maiden Wrex knew his lovely pup would grow into … know that he and Samara had formed some semblance of a family. That would be a good day.

"Ready for me to turn the light out?" Quarn asked, his cot creaking as he rolled over to reach for the lantern.

"Yeah, go ahead." Wrex laid down, leaning up far enough to keep an eye out down below. In the other tent, excited whispers and laughter rang out followed by overlapping shushes. The three goofy pups had grown up together, bonded so tightly that Wrex knew the twins leaving for the military academy would break his Raxi's heart.

Ten minutes after they put the light out, Quarn began to snore, only the slight whir of his scope focusing letting Wrex know the turian remained awake and tightly clenched. At forty minutes, the day finally caught up with the giggling maniacs in the other tent and silence fell.

Uvenk's men didn't move.

One hour stretched into two, the minutes measured in the slow tightening of the muscles along Wrex's spine and jaw. At the third hour, the night remained so silent and still that Wrex began to wonder if he just imagined the large squad. No, he still prided himself on his lack of fanciful imagination, so the enemy remained below, biding their time. But why?

He let out a soft, annoyed growl of and nudged Quarn's cot with a foot, the turian's snoring no longer fake. Wrex supposed he should feel honoured that he engendered such trust.

"Spirits, I am becoming old and senile if I fell asleep on watch. Still nothing?" The CDEM commander yawned and shifted around before whispering, "What are they waiting for?"

Wrex grunted. After three hours, Uvenk's thugs weren't waiting for them to fall asleep. No, they were waiting for something else, and that something else tied the remainder of Wrex's muscles into rope art.

"Are we thinking distraction?" Quarn shifted further up his pillows. Wrex held his breath as the commander activated his comms, whispering so softly his voice could have been mistaken for the wind swirling sand over the rocks. After a moment, he closed the channel and shook his head. "No signs of attack at the gikgah or bomb site."

Wrex heard him moving. Something slid along the canvas floor of the tent before he heard Quarn assembling his sniper rifle.

"I'm not going to wait for them to come after us." Quarn laid on his cot, belly down. "I've got a clear shot and my children two metres away."

Wrex shook his head. "If they're waiting for backup, we're going to need to take these out and grab the kids, take them up to the summer camp. That trail is too dangerous in full dark. Unless they move first, we wait for the sky to lighten." They used the high camp in summer because the cave system burrowed deep into the roots of the mountain, staying cool. It also offered a much tighter defensive position.

The susurrus of Quarn's whisper disappeared into a strained silence where only the sound of sand racing over the rocks rode the chilly night breeze.

A solid ten minutes passed before Quarn let out a breath. "Fine. When the sky is light enough to see the trail, we attack. As soon as most of them are down, or there is any sign of reinforcements, I'll run for the kids and head straight there. Once they're safe, I'll come back if you haven't caught up with us."

Wrex nodded, the light from their rifles enough to see the sparkle of Quarn's eyes in the dark. "Don't worry about me," he said, his reply a soft rumble in the back of his throat. "Get Raxi and your pups to the deepest part of the caves and arm them."

Quarn nodded, finally settling in to wait.

Once the sky began to lighten, Aralakh stalking the horizon, the cluster of Gatatog and Blood Pack started up the side of the mountain.

"Blood Pack," Wrex said as he sighted down the first and squeezed the trigger. Silent and deadly, he and Quarn took out ten of the warriors before he nodded for the turian to get their pups and run like hell. Blood Pack. Uvenk had sunk lower than Wrex believed possible. Surely peace and cooperation didn't offer enough of a threat to make dishonor preferable?

Wrex climbed out of the tent and strode to the ledge, facing the last handful of the bastard in the open. If Uvenk thought a dozen warriors enough to take him down when he stood between them and his daughter ….

Opening Bakara's channel, he winced, his brain assaulted by a deafening storm of explosions, gunfire, and shouting.

A handful of seconds passed before Bakara shouted, "Clan Chief, we're under attack! We just got the device craned up out of the ground when Blood Pack came at us from every direction."

Rahat! "Status?" Wrex spun, charged along the slope of the mountain, trying to get a clear line of sight to the bomb excavation. Hearts pounding high in his throat, he raced over the loose rock, leaping every obstacle in his path.

His comms beeped an incoming call. Samara. "Wrex, all of Uvenk's men and ships are gone. When we went down to the spaceport … it was all a ruse. What we thought were his men … they were all elderly and infertile females in armour."

"He's attacking the bomb site," he said, a sudden calm lowering his voice and settling the plan in his head. As bad as things got, he'd seen worse. He just needed to stay cool and work the problem. "Get the clan ready to evacuate. I'll call you back as soon as I know more." He closed the channel, opening the one to Bakara. Still nothing.

Wrex caught up with Quarn and the sleepy kids in under eight minutes; they were moving too slow. Too damned slow. "Gatatog is attacking the bomb site," he shouted without slowing. Instead, he scooped Raxi up in one arm and Prilla in the other. "We've got to get them underground in case it's triggered."

For ten minutes, Wrex's world shrank down to the warmth and strength of Raxi's grip around his neck, the throbbing beat of his hearts, and Bakara hollering intermittent reports over the cacophony of battle. When they reached the mouth of the summer cave, he set down the two youngsters and lifted his infrared scope to his eye. At the bomb excavation, pillars of black smoke rose into the sour, dawn-streaked sky, sending his gut splashing down into his boots.

"Bakara, is the bomb secure? Do we need to evacuate Urdnot?" He waited a handful of breathless seconds before he glanced over at Quarn. "Get them down as far as you can. I'll call Samara back, get them evacuating."

Quarn reached out to grab Prilla and Raxi's hands, tugging the confused, terrified youngsters into motion. "Come on, we've got to move."

The turian managed to drag Raxi a dozen metres before she tore her hand loose and ran back to grip Wrex's arm. "Makah! Come with us." Frantic strength tugged him up the slope. "You've got to come!"

"Get started," Wrex ordered. He gently peeled his daughter's delicate, blue fingers from his armour and pushed her after the others. "I'll be—"

The comm channel exploded to life in Wrex's head. "Wrex! They're inside the site. We're pinned down, taking heavy rocket fire. The Blood Pack have made it to the bomb controls." Bakara's voice muffled. "Move up on the left. Barl, watch your right flank. Push up. Everyone push up! Get them away from the controls." Her breath panted in his ear. "We'll have them driven out of the compound in a couple of minutes, but the—"

"Hold on!" Wrex bellowed at Bakara, channelling the sudden flood of fear into volume. He closed the frequency and opened one to Samara. Even before she could greet him, he cut her off. "Samara, the bomb timer has been triggered. Get everyone as deep underground as you can."

The channel went silent, the pause breathless as Samara processed what he'd said. "Raxi!" Instead of hanging up and following his orders, she demanded, "What about you and Raxi?"

"Don't waste a shuttle on us. There isn't time. Quarn's got Raxi; they're heading down into the summer camp." He swallowed a hundred things that his heart wanted him to waste time saying. Ridiculous. In the hundreds of times he'd faced death, he'd never lapsed into sentiment. Nothing had changed.

Before now you've never had anything to lose.

He shook off the flood of regret and memory and emotion, growling low and furious. "Get the people underground."

"I will."

Wrex swallowed his rage. Those two simple words forming the entire reason he trusted and cared for Samara so deeply. No question, no arguing or useless sentiment, just action. He drew a breath and set out toward the cave. "If we don't survive, prove the council is behind this. Don't rest until you do."

Samara paused in shouting orders. "I will. Just … Wrex, bring Raxi home."

He let out a short, soft rumble of gratitude as the channel closed, Samara sparing him having to lie or say goodbye.

Wrex changed back to Bakara's channel, the roar of engines replacing gunfire and explosions. "What's going on?" He winced as the din of construction equipment ramped up on the other end of the comm channel. What was she doing, building a bomb shelter around the bomb?

He set out for the cave entrance. "Bakara? Answer." Nothing. She wouldn't be able to hear him over the racket. When it eased, at least one of the motors cutting out, he hollered again. "Bakara? What's happening?"

Her voice came through in short explosions of breath as if she were running. "We drove the Blood Pack out of the arena, but they triggered the timer before we got the bomb secure." Thunder roared in contained, momentary bursts that Wrex saw as puffs of smoke and dust rising into the winds. Bakara punctuated a crash with a pained curse and the sound of scrambling feet and tumbling stone. "We're still under fire. Rockets mostly, but they're firing blind."

The channel fell quiet but for the sound of Bakara panting. Had she stopped? What in the name of all his accursed ancestors was going on?

"I ordered the squad and the crane operator to load the bomb on one of the shuttles," she said, at last. "They're on the other shuttle heading toward your position, just in case I don't make it." A heavy grunt and softer moan accompanied banging and creaking.

"How much time is left on the clock?" Wrex lifted his scope to his eye, desperate to see even the smallest measure of what might prove his clan's last battle. Rahat! He kicked at the loose rock, furious at being stuck too far away to do anything but fume and curse his ancestors. When he spotted two specks rising above the far hills, hope detonated in his gut, a grenade as likely to blow him apart as a mortar. One of the specks sped closer, gradually taking form, while the other climbed toward space.

A bright flash of flame and smoke exploded against the second shuttle's aft section. The shuttle dropped, then struggled to climb, floundering as the thruster sputtered.

"Bakara!" He leaped forward three strides before sliding to a halt. A roar of pure, raw thresher acid poured over his tongue and through his teeth, burning him from the inside out as he looked on, helpless. Letting out one last belch of smoke, the thruster died.

The shuttle slewed hard to port, plunging into a wild, downward spin. Wrex's breath slammed into his hearts: one frozen, the other an inferno as they pushed up into his throat. Lifting his arm in a futile attempt to brace himself, he waited for the blinding flash and the wall of blistering wind that would turn his flesh to ash even as it ripped it from his bones.

Raxi! She hadn't even started her life, and he wanted to show her so much … teach her so much. He wanted to beam with pride as he introduced her to Shepard … to the whole damned galaxy. Grandpups … to know that something of him remained even after …. Biting off the diatribe of half-finished thoughts, he swallowed them down.

A quick glance over his shoulder assured him that Quarn had the kids inside the tunnel. Quarn would be pushing them straight down at breakneck speed; Raxi would survive. She would. He needed to get below as well, but even as he backed into the cave's mouth, his stare remained riveted on Bakara's battle to keep the shuttle in the air.

"I can't get the shuttle leveled out!" Bakara called, her voice entirely too collected. "Need to shut down the thrusters and restart."

"No," he shouted back, with none of her calm, "you're too low! Head for the wastes!"

An ear-splitting roar of denial ripped from his throat, his hearts shredded as two lifetimes—a millennia of pain, love, terror, death, and hope—exploded into a barrage of razor-edged shards when she cut the thrusters. His people! His planet!

Samara! No … she hadn't had time to spread the alarm, let alone get the gikgah cleared and the thousands of Urdnot herded down into the tunnels. He reached up to his comms: they needed to harry everyone underground as fast as they could. Inhaling the breath to give the order, he froze. All the cycles he'd spent dreading that moment … dreading his enemies punishing his clan for his reformation ... Had it all been a mistake? His clan—

The thrusters sputtered, then let out a belch of blue flame. He let out a wordless scream of pride and relief as the thruster ignited and the shuttle swooped into a steep, upward climb.

"They started," Bakara called, a choked, giddy laugh of relief crackling over the comms. "Blessed ancestors, they started." She—the krogan people's saviour for the second lifetime—launched the shuttle toward space.

Shading the end of his scope, Wrex followed the shuttle until it disappeared into the hazy sky. Despite knowing the truth, his heart pounded out beats of hope. If Bakara could get out of the atmosphere and push the bomb out. Rahat! Why wouldn't she just tell him how much time remained?

"I'm out of the atmosphere." Bakara's long sigh blew over him, the sweetest of breezes. "There are only a few seconds on the timer." She swallowed, the sound more deafening than a scream. "I just … I want to thank you, Clan Chief … " She cleared her throat, her voice softer when she corrected herself. "... Wrex. Thank you for trusting me to defend our people, for allowing me to forge life and purpose from my despair."

"Bakara …." A hundred faded memories forced their way into his head: moments of silent companionship, of gentle touches and comforting words, of a partnership and love that had scarcely begun before the Crucible threw him back.

"No. No goodbyes or apologies. I wouldn't change anything. Just—"

A brilliant new star flared in the heavens, disappearing before he could draw breath. Clenching his teeth against the twin novas of sorrow and gratitude threatening to blow a hole through his chest, he bowed his head even as he lifted one hand to close his comms.

"No, thank you, Urdnot Bakara. You will be avenged, and you will never be forgotten." He yanked off his left gauntlet, then drew his sikah from its sheath, slicing the heel of his palm. As his blood dripped to feed the hungry sand, he growled low, thunder rolling from his throat. "By this blood, and by the spirits of the pups we shared in that other life, I swear it."

(A-N: Apologies for the wait. I hope it was worth it. Thank you all so much for your support. I appreciate it more than I can say. *throws donuts and coffee*)


	14. Chapter Fourteen -- All These Long Cycles Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard once referred to fighting between Wrex and Grunt as being caught between the Scylla and Charybdis. Wrex loved that. Of course, he didn't know the Scylla or Charybdis from his fat grandmother's arse end, but he got the gist of the metaphor: being dragged under and drowned in violence.

**Torin** \- Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

 **Tarin** \- Tarini plural. Female turian of the age of majority (15)

 **Puer** \- Child Puerin **Puerin -** Children

 **Hinah** \- Asari for mother (Bearing parent)

 **Makah** \- Asari for father (Non-bearing parent)

 **Kaika** \- Asari for daughter

 **Sikah** \- A ritual knife made from the tooth of a thresher maw

 **Pyrumavra** \- A form of warfare that leaves nothing behind, everyone is killed, all buildings, crops, etc. destroyed. The turian equivalent of "scorched earth".

 **Spurin** \- Turian word for bastard, but meaning a despicable person, not one of unknown parentage.

**1963 CE Sarlik, Oma Ker, Turian Space (48 years later)**

In Wrex's experience, being krogan meant stabbing horror and loss in the face with his _sikah_ and carving out a good-sized chunk of cheek meat. It meant sighting a target and tearing through or blowing up everything in between. It meant burning away fear with wildfire. Rage stoked the fire of survival while fear amounted to an organ he needed to tear out and throw to the varren.

Shepard once referred to fighting between Wrex and Grunt as being caught between the Scylla and Charybdis. Wrex loved that. Of course, he didn't know the Scylla or Charybdis from his fat grandmother's arse end, but he got the gist of the metaphor: being dragged under and drowned in violence.

He glanced toward the large window; smoke obscured the city beyond, the sky above, black. Since he'd taken over his clan, he'd used rage and savagery in a calculated way: tossing klixen and varren into the ring to keep his people's minds off the thresher maw coming up under them. Wrex chuffed. Strange to think of fury as a plan … a strategy every bit as complex as one of Shepard's machinations.

So, yes, his history bled a torrent of rage, but terror? No, Wrex crushed terror beneath his boots, bleeding it into the dust. Three days before, a single message smashed his long history of glorious fury, and for the time it took to race from Tuchanka to Oma Ker, terror ripped into him with rabid teeth, consuming sleep and dragging each second into an eternity.

_Raxi. Samara. Stay safe. Stay alive._

"Wrex?" Quarn's voice pulled him back, so cool and controlled that it helped whip Wrex's fear into anger. "General Kandros is ready to speak to us."

How did Quarn keep himself from screaming and blasting his way through the pompous idiots that stood between them and their families? Three days ago, the same turian separatists shoved Quarn's mate and son into the same chair as they had Raxi and Samara. Malani and Durrien suffered the same blows if they refused to recite the same message. Every time Wrex blinked, the flickering, interrupted holo images of the people he loved appeared behind his eyelids, making calm impossible.

_Samara stared into the recording device, unbroken and strong. Courage shone through her every word despite the filth, mottled black bruises, and blood covering her serene, beautiful face. "The aid camp in the city center of Sarlik on Oma Ker has been captured. I came to Oma Ker to aid the civilians trapped by the conflict tearing … " A taloned hand slammed into her temple, a cry from somewhere off camera accenting the strength of the blow. Samara must have gone off script._

_Wrex's jaw clenched, every muscle roaring, needing to charge and kill. The angry cry could have only come from Raxi … his fierce Raxi trying to protect her mother. His breath roared in his throat, his entire body screaming to tear the plates from the bastard's flesh._

" _... tearing the colony apart. Last night insurgents captured the camp. They say that if the Hierarchy does not recognize their independence, they will murder …." Another blow, that one harder, leaving a slow trail of new blood running down over her temple. She clenched her jaw, tipping her chin up, so beautifully defiant that Wrex reached out to touch her image. "They will_ murder _everyone in the camp." When she emphasized the word and turned from the camera to glare at her captor, Wrex fell in love all over again._

_The brutal hands dragged her from the chair and out of view. A new set of talons shoved Raxi into the seat a moment later. Raxi read the script as her captors wrote it but with no less courage or defiance than her mother._

"Allow a krogan coalition to break the insurgency?" General Kandros's outraged bellow dragged Wrex out of his thoughts yet again. The general paced the war room at the heart of the government buildings _,_ his constantly shaking head dropping a flaming gob of magma into Wrex's gut. "Not if they were the last warriors in the galaxy."

He threw up a hand to stop Quarn before he do more than draw breath to speak. "I don't care who the insurgents are holding; you'll let the turian military handle it." The _torin_ reeked of sour sweat, frustration, and desperation, but he kept his distress buttoned down, no doubt refusing to show any weakness in front of a krogan. Judging by how revolting he found the idea of fighting alongside krogan, betraying that he knew he was losing the revolt must feel as appealing as gnawing off his own head.

Wrex let out a long, regulated breath aimed at keeping his rage intact. As much as he wanted to save the general the trouble and rip the turian's troublesome head right off, he and Quarn had come there to get their mates and children out alive. They'd tried every other angle, even asking the Council to send Spectres to extract the civilians and aid workers trapped in the war torn capital.

Naturally, as always, it came down to Wrex strangling matters in his own hands. Why did governments always claim helplessness? Instead of making decisions and standing to say 'no more', they wrung their hands and made excuses as to why they couldn't just do the right thing. He growled again, low and dangerous. Shepard, and her gift for making people see the truth, couldn't arrive soon enough. He needed help smashing heads together.

He choked down his rage, crimson eyes watching Kandros pace, each revolution across the space cracking the shell controlling his temper, taking it another notch closer to blood rage.

"General," Quarn said, his voice far calmer and more placating than Wrex could have managed even if he'd been struck unconscious, "forget that our mates and _puerin_ are being held by these insurgents. Your units are surrounded and being whittled down. Civilians are dying by the thousands: collateral damage or murdered by either side as rebels or loyalists." He stepped into the general's pacing route. "The krogan, CDEM personnel, and five squads of asari commandos have taken positions outside the insurgent lines. They can end this rebellion today."

The general shoved Quarn aside, bullying past him, a bold move … or maybe just the carelessness of a _torin_ who already considered himself dead. "I don't care if this mindless brute spit-polishes your boots every morning," Kandros said, each word as sharp as varren teeth. "If you think I'm going to allow krogan to put down even the most rabid turian separatist, you've got _netichiks_ eating your brain, Hierarch Quarn." The sheer amount of revulsion accenting the words 'krogan' and 'hierarch' set Wrex's molten gut aflame.

Decan Quarn earned his seat in the Hierarchy serving his people and the krogan faithfully for over a century. Hearing Kandros speak of his best friend like something stepped on in a pyjak cage clenched the clan chief's fists into boulders … mountains threatening to become rockslides. If this pile of _rahat_ thought he could stand between them and their families … between he and Raxi …. No. He'd tear the head off every turian in his way to get to them, and then bathe the colony in a sea of blood and viscera if anything happened to his _kaika_.

And he'd start with Kandros.

But instead of delivering on the promise of carnage, Wrex turned to meet and hold the general's stare, meeting contempt with contempt. The cracking air seared the insides of his nostrils as he took a long, roaring breath and stretched his fingers until the joints all cracked. "We're not going without our families. They came to help the civilians you've torn apart with your war."

He spun toward the door, a juggernaut digging in to charge. "Go ahead, sacrifice your home; it's not up to me to beat sense into you." Wrex took a step toward Kandros, a vicious smile tearing open his face when the general stepped back. "But if anything happens to my mate and daughter, I'll be back to bleed you slow." He clapped Quarn on the shoulder. "Come on, pyjak."

"Nice try, Clan Chief Urdnot." The hierarch nodded and fell in at Wrex's three. "Unfortunately, you can't talk the stupid or the mindless prejudice out of some people." Once the door closed behind them, sealing General Kandros on the other side, Quarn gripped Wrex's arm in punishing talons. "We can't let him force us out. I don't care what Kandros says or what the Council will do. Malani and Durrien are in there." The hierarch latched onto Wrex's arm, sliding behind him for ten metres before the clan chief stopped. "I need to get my family to safety, Wrex."

Wrex shot a glance back at his best friend, the look dripping with at least fifty litres of 'don't be such a brainless varren pup, of course we're not leaving without them'. Instead of replying to Quarn, he opened a channel to the two hundred krogan waiting in hidden positions around the city.

As soon as the message from the insurgents came in, Wrex announced to the _gikgah_ that he'd be mounting a rescue mission. Volunteers swarmed the training yard. The united clans adored his family and Quarn's: the once-aliens adopted and beloved. In addition to krogan, a large contingent of CDEM personnel, and squads of asari commandos—on Tuchanka to train with Samara and krogan shamans—signed up.

Wrex knew the turian colonial government flailed too deep in the bog of their war to treat the krogan volunteers as anything other than the enemy. So he, Quarn, and Barl scanned the insurgent placements throughout the city and organized their own plan of attack.

Wrex coughed; the air stank of cowardice. He needed to get outside, at least the reek of smoke, blood, and decay was an honest one. "Barl, get them moving," he ordered. "We're on our way out, now." Clapping one heavy hand down on Quarn's shoulder, he pulled his friend along as he strode for the exit, still speaking into his comm. "Time to start saving the galaxy one ignorant pyjak at a time. Drop them and stash them." He glanced at Quarn. "You ready?"

"As ready as I can be at 134 cycles old." The turian stretched, his joints cracking. "I feel 200 today. Far too old to fight my way through a city full of rebel soldiers." He shrugged out of the black robe of his station, revealing the set of light, battle-scarred armour beneath. "Let's end this." He opened his omnitool, sending a ping to Malani in the captive aid camp a half-city away. In under a minute, Quarn's mate returned the ping, the message displaying current insurgent deployment data throughout the camp.

Wrex didn't know how the _tarin_ managed to hold onto her omnitool when the insurgents swept into the camp, seeking shelter from the bombs behind innocent shields. Most of the intelligence didn't matter to him, anyway. His plan didn't rely on intelligence; it relied on rage. Rage and control.

"Is our route still open?" Wrex asked, moving to the front door to check on the rebel lines. Their fortifications surrounded the buildings, standing nose to nose with the defenders' concrete barricades and sniper posts. Pacing, he threw his shoulders in circles and waggled his head back and forth, loosening up for the coming carnage. His first instinct had been to send his warriors charging through the insurgent lines while he argued with the idiots. Instead, he deployed them and ordered them to wait. He needed to be there; he needed to be the one smashing straight into the enemy's ranks.

He waited, his imagination following Barl and the five squads of krogan, turians, and asari as they moved to surround the insurgent lines. Wrex hated waiting. He'd saved the best part for himself, but still, waiting made his feet itch to stomp back into Kandros's office and tear off the general's arms. Growling under his breath, he stopped, watching for a shift in the lines.

"Aralakh to Great Maw," Barl's voice snarled through Wrex's comm, enough emphasis placed on Wrex's handle to make Wrex chuff. Smart ass krogan. Nothing worse. "All teams in position. One massive distraction coming up."

"Go," Wrex ordered before he swaggered out into the defender's lines, larger than life and twice as ugly. Wading through the turian defences as if he not only belonged, but ran the show, he let out a guttural snarl. Time to crack skulls.

He leaped over the stacks of k-rails. The insurgent line hid behind a thick wall of piled sandbags, their rifle muzzles shoved through the gaps: infant maws popping out of the desert to spit their pathetic, watery acid. In the distance, the sharp echo of assault rifles cracked off buildings. Wrex narrowed his eyes, grinning when the heavy bark of krogan shotguns replied. Shoving his helmet down over his head, he sucked in a greedy breath.

_Raxi … Samara … I'm coming._

Setting his shoulder ahead of him, a battering ram they'd sing songs about for generations, he charged the wall of sandbags. Bellowing laughter, Wrex smashed the front line into a shower of sand, rifles, and turians. He didn't slow when the insurgents opened fire, shrugging off the bullets pelting his shields, trusting Quarn to have his back. Instead, he dug in, blasting straight through the rebel command tent. Slowing just enough to aim for the two turians he needed, he grabbed their armour at the cowl and barreled right back out the other side.

The booming aerial artillery sound of singularities and shockwaves detonating provided a strong counterpoint to small arms fire, making Wrex's every cell sing. Battle roared through his veins, his blood and breath—like all krogan—but like fighting at Shepard's side, this battle … a battle to defend innocents rather than for its own sake … it filled all four hearts with something stronger than rage or fear.

The fire in his blood began to cool as he raced past ruined street after ruined street, dragging his protesting captives behind him. The entire city seemed to burn. The smoke and decay blurred into a single miasma that bludgeoned its way past his sinuses to sink daggers in his gut. The blood-hued cataracts faded from his vision, rage giving way to horror, individual details registering amidst the relentlessly uniform field of rubble. Fire bombing. His gaze slid over the long swaths of destruction carved through businesses and homes. The dead …. It sickened him ... so many bodies of unarmoured and unarmed civilians—the elderly and the very young—torn up by the bombs, their corpses left to lie.

"Where are the warriors?" Wrex asked, the question an explosive arrow shot straight into his rage. He turned to his prisoners, but one just glared at him while the other seemed to find something fascinating in the dirt.

"Wrex?" Quarn glanced around them before looking at Wrex, his mandibles slumped lower than his shoulders. "Oh. No soldiers amongst the dead." The single whisper resonated through the endless soot-blacked landscape. " _Pyrumavra_ , the resort of dishonourable cowards."

"The Hierarchy _spurin_ don't care where we are," the turian dangling from Wrex's right hand said, spitting words coated in a thick layer of venom. "They level everything to kill us."

"And you dare them to by hiding behind pups and old mothers? Liar." Wrex slammed on the brakes, sliding, struggling for footing in the thick cover of ash before he crashed to a stop. Crimson flashing across his vision once more, he stared past the black steel studs into the remains of a small home.

Tightening his grip on the struggling turians, he lunged into the talkative one's face. "Who did this?" Losing control over his rage for a single round of heartbeats, he shook both _torini:_ rags in a rabid varren's jaws. "You're Murcellus?" he demanded of the _torin_ —he'd use the bastard's rank the day after Aralakh dumped a giant pile of varren shit on his head. "You command this cowardly pack of klixen?"

Remaining silent, the insurgent general glared, his suddenly tight-lipped rage enough to set Wrex's helmet on fire let alone betray the answer.

Wrex shook the _torini again_ , knocking their heads together a little. "Who dropped these bombs?" Once again neither answered. Bracing to smack them together hard enough to rattle teeth—and maybe the truth—loose, Wrex roared. "Who killed these people?" Dragging the _torini_ with him, he strode into the remains of the tiny house. He shoved them down onto their knees, hard enough that they fell face first into a huddle of corpses. A mother crouched, her arms around her three small children, sheltering them with her body.

"Both sides have bombed the other's positions within the city." Murcellus threw himself backwards and clambered to his feet. For a half second Wrex saw a flash of something real—fear, he thought—but then it disappeared behind a curtain of arrogant defiance. "We didn't do this. The rebellion is about creating a government that allows people like this family to live better lives."

Wrex grabbed the rebel general and hurtled back out onto the street, his shoulder slamming into the wall on the way. Once outside, he spun to face the other turian: one of Murcellus's upper echelon. "Well?"

The _torin_ crawled the half metre to the bodies then knelt so he sat on his heels. "Rallia." Gentle, trembling hands rested on the dead mother's head and that of her youngest. "I knew her. These _puerin_ attend school with my own." After another second, he leaped up. Wrex braced to meet him as he charged, but the _torin_ ducked around him at the last second to grab Murcellus. "This stopped being about the people the moment you started using civilians as bargaining chips and shields."

Wrex chuckled, a roar rolling beneath it, deep, slow, and dangerous. "Even your soldiers know what a quadless coward you are." He cuffed the general hard enough to knock him out, his only regret that he didn't have Kandros's unconscious body dangling from his other hand.

"Our families are being held in the aid camp," Quarn said, stepping up beside Wrex, shotgun leading. He gestured toward the field of rubble and the winding trail through it. "We'll get to them faster if you show us the way past the rebel and government positions."

The rebel officer nodded, his slumped shoulders and hanging mandibles igniting a heady blast of satisfaction in the clan chief's gut. Wrex curled his lip as the stink of slaughter invaded his helmet. The stupid pyjaks, resorting to threatening innocents. He understood rising up and spitting in the face of injustice, but hadn't the krogan proven the costs of waging war without mercy and honour?

With the officer leading, Wrex and Quarn made excellent time, racing along the route of fewest guards. Victory tried to muscle its way back in, to take hold of his hearts, but he crushed it beneath his boots. That fight, even won, didn't make a victory. The krogan wouldn't know true triumph until they stood before the Council and the slippery bastards finally promised diplomatic protection and representation for the krogan. That moment might not appear for decades.

He'd given orders to avoid turning the hostage crisis into a political disaster, but all that mattered to him in the moments stretching before him was beating down his rage and taking his family home alive. If turians died … to the pits with them.

Those soldiers they did encounter, Wrex dropped, slamming a heavy fist down on the top of their heads before leaving them sprawled on the ground. Block after block, collapsed street after collapsed street passed by, faster and faster as Wrex's rage drove them, a cruel master lashing them if they slowed.

The air in the city changed the closer they got to the aid camp. Clouds and smoke attacked the tops of the buildings, the wind and ash tearing through them like claws shredding flesh. Wrex slowed, dread leaping out of the pooled shadows and clinging to his hump. A sharp glance cut across to Quarn, who nodded: he felt it. Even their escort started looking more and more like a pyjak in a cooking pot watching the fire build.

"Government troops are moving in," Murcellus's officer said, lifting a hand to his comms. "The outer patrols and bases have gone dark. A few scattered reports of movement in the air. Gunships taking off from the airfield." He spun and leaped up to a second floor where the outside wall had been sheared away, following that with an equally impressive jump to the roof. Grabbing a pair of field glasses from his belt, he scanned the sky. "Gunships also lifting off the roof of the capital buildings."

 _Rahat!_ That bastard Kandros couldn't help but leap into the opening left by Wrex's teams. Swoop in, mop up the last few stragglers and claim his glorious victory. For their trouble, he'd make the krogan the bad guys.

"Get down here, pyjak!" he bellowed, then turned to Quarn. "Contact Barl, make sure he has our insurance in place. Kandros is moving in."

" _Tarc_!" Quarn made contact even before the rebel officer jumped back down to street level, the hierarch firing questions even as he, Wrex, and their guide set back into a run.

Gunship thrusters droned louder every second, and after two blocks, Wrex picked up the rumble of engines and the hum of thrusters from street level. With so much rubble, the turians wouldn't be able to move quickly. No need to worry about the APC's and tanks. He intended to be long gone before they arrived, but the thrusters meant drones.

When Quarn fell silent, Wrex glanced back. "Incoming drones." A rocket impacted the wall just above and behind him, tearing a sharp 'rahat' from between clenched teeth. "Hey, rebel!" he shouted, tossing Murcellus's slumped form into his officer's arms when the _torin_ turned.

Wrex ducked into the side street, leaping a pile of polycrete. "Keep going. I'll be a minute." Chuckling, he charged the flock of drones, a broad, vicious smile spreading across his face. "You'd love this," he hollered, thinking of both Shepard and Bakara … his warrior sisters. He ducked a volley of rockets and ran through a hail of rounds from the assault drones to hurl himself off the top of a pile of rubble. Catching an assault drone by the feet, he dragged it to the ground. He twisted, falling on his back, turning the drone's fire on the rest of its squad even as they turned to level their guns and launchers on him again.

"Come on! Come on!" His taunts faded into laughter as the small flying weapons exploded into schrapel. A piece lanced through the armour at his hip, the pain hardly more than a bee sting with the battle song roaring through his cells. He ripped it out, his laughter manic, and scrambled to his feet. Gripping one of the legs in his hand, he swung the drone like a club, smashing the mindless VI guided toys like … _rahat_ … like toys.

He stopped, breathing hard, the drones in a circle of smoking ruins around him. Rumbling under his feet spurred him back into motion; they needed to get everyone out of the way before Kandros's tanks arrived to back up the gunships.

"Barl, are the shuttles ready?" He snatched up an armload of the drones and threw himself back into a run. "Get us some heavy guns at the aid camp. If I don't get there, take charge. Set up lines and aim for the engines on the gunships. Make sure someone records what both sides do."

When Barl answered that he was already on the way, Wrex grinned, wishing he could see Kandros's face when his gunships fell from the air, their wings clipped. After that day, the entire galaxy wouldn't be able to deny how much he'd refocused his people. He chuckled, the sound sharp and jagged. The Council wouldn't know what hit them.

Wrex knew he approached the aid camp by the sound of gunship thrusters approaching on multiple vectors. They approached low to the ground, between buildings, to avoid rocket fire, so he ran another four blocks before he caught sight of them. Three seconds later, they caught sight of him, the leader peeling out of formation to close on Wrex.

Turning to face the gunship, Wrex dropped all but two of the drones, gripping one in each hand. The gunship opened fire, the rounds stabbing into the ground between them, sending up small clouds of ash. Wrex stood his ground, chin thrust out. Urdnot Wrex killed by a gunship? Not in two thousand lifetimes. Only Vakarian was made of enough stupid and reckless to jump in front of a rocket.

He stared down the pilot, hoping the idiot could see the grin on his face as he waited for it to get close enough. The belch of one of the krogan artillery guns widened his grin. Wait until the turians saw the krogans' invention. Too bad he was going to miss it.

Closer … closer …. Bellowing at the top of his lungs, Wrex hurled a drone, aiming for the thrusters. In a glorious gout of flame, the starboard thruster exploded, throwing the gunship into a quick spiral. A half second later, it slammed into a building and went up in flames. Beautiful! He roared, taunting the others still aiming for the camp, grinning when one took the challenge.

_Come on, you bastards! Come to Uncle Urdnot._

The second drone smashed into the tail hard enough to swing the entire gunship around. A loud chuckle roared down the street as the pilot fought for control. Another drone from his pile sent the second gunship careening into first one's smoking corpse.

Enough playing with Kandros's toys. He needed to be between his family and the rest of the forces the general ordered to take the camp. Growling deep and low in his throat, he spun and raced toward the camp, following Quarn's tracks down the street. He'd have to poke the old guy for his distinctive elderly shamble.

Six blocks, and a magnificent, booming orchestra of krogan-led destruction later, he ran into a plate-peeling wall of burning fuel and melted slag. Ducking through the charred remains of a furniture store, Wrex climbed the collapsed roof and slid down the wall of the building next door. He paused to breathe for the first time in nearly two hours, clear-eyed and calm. The camp. Shuttles lined up alongside a field of tents and lean-to structures, the camp looking intact enough that the varren in his gut stopped ripping each other to pieces.

" _Makah_?"

Wrex spun toward the shout, an almost painful sigh of relief scraping out to greet the glowing blue streak that charged at him. He wobbled a little. Damn, must be dizzy from lack of air in his helmet. Yeah, definitely the helmet. He ripped it off.

" _Makah_!" A grip like steel bands wrapped around him, his daughter clinging to him, her soft face pressed to his. She smelled of smoke and blood, both aged and fresh. "I told _Hinah_." She planted a kiss on his cheek. "I told her you'd come for us and kick more turian rebel ass than has ever been kicked."

He lifted her off the ground with one arm, joy and love burning away days of fear. "How's your _hinah_?"

"Awww, you were worried about us." Raxi laughed, a note of giddiness betraying how much of a toll her captivity had taken, and settled into the crook of his arm. "Are you kidding? _Hinah,_ Malani, and I had most of the rebels on the ground within thirty seconds of Barl's team moving in. Durrien helped a little." His _kaika_ jutted her chin toward the camp. "There she is. See? In one piece."

Wrex barely had time to register Samara's face through all the filth covering it, when—

"Hey! You! Massive krogan!" a dual-toned, feminine voice hollered from behind him.

"Let's go check on the camp," Wrex suggested, hurrying toward the tents. Of course he wasn't running from his best friend's tiny mate. He just wanted to make sure Samara came through as intact as she looked.

"Don't you run from me, Urdnot Wrex. You sent my 134-cycle-old bondmate into battle."

Wrex heard Malani limping, her boots scraping across the sooty pavement. He stopped, turning to face her, his free hand held out in surrender. He'd rather face down thirty gunships before Melani Vertis-Quarn. "It wasn't my idea to drag his ancient arse-end out here." He looked past the female to her mate. "I told him he was only fit for lounging on fat cushions, complaining about his aches and pains."

"That'll be the day." Quarn chuffed, his strides strong and true, reminding Wrex that while the _torin_ might be old, he remained strong and vital. "The Hierarchy won't give me fifteen beautiful, young _tarini_ to feed me treats and pour my brandy." His mandibles flicked as Malani cocked a brow plate at him. "What? I'm retired and a notable politician. Isn't that supposed to be what happens?"

Samara announced her arrival by clearing her throat, a soft purr of sound. An armoured hand touched Wrex's face, his attention snapping into focus on his family. A gentle smile said hello, before the ex-Justicar looked to their _kaika_. "We're pulling out. Can you go back to the ship with the next load of injured and assist the doctors?"

Raxi smacked a rough kiss against Wrex's cheek, then wriggled down. "I'll see you both aboard." She kissed her mother's sooty, blood-stained cheek, then dashed off, hollering and waving to Barl as they passed.

Wrex faced Samara and reached out, hearts all skipping beats as he checked the wounds ripped into her face and scalp crests. "Have the docs looked at you?" he asked, touching her chin with a single finger to turn her head a little. The wounds had been pulled together and smothered in woundex, answering his question, but still, he asked. Neither one of them showed anything more than professional concern in public, the question his code for how worried he'd been.

"I'm fine, Wrex." Samara turned toward the line of shuttles, the first of which lifted off in a murky cloud. "We're prepared to evacuate."

The clan chief nodded, all his previous fear and rage draining away, leaving behind numb exhaustion. "Let's move." He waved to Quarn, the _torin_ standing a few metres away, his arms around his bondmate. "You've got to explain a ship full of rebels and government troops to the Hierarchy."

Barl caught up with them halfway to the shuttles. "Glad you finally got here," he said through a snarling smile. "You should have seen the 77 Maw Rockets burn through those gunships. It was beautiful, boss."

"They couldn't have worked more perfectly," Malani added as she and Quarn caught up. "Broke apart on the shields and released the acid, melted the thrusters right off the wings. Well worth the cycles of R&D we put into them." She shook her head. "It was risky using them, though. The Council isn't going to trust the krogan keeping them to themselves, and they really aren't going to want every merc and pirate having a weapon that renders shields impotent."

"It'll force them to develop their shield and armour tech along different routes," Wrex said, despite feeling the very real chance of doom on the horizon. "They've got to pull their heads out of their asses." Developing weapon tech of any kind was risky, but he'd been given a chance to really prepare for the reapers. That meant not clinging to the tech the reapers left behind. It also meant ending the collectors, but he needed the Council behind the krogan before that. Otherwise, he risked making them galactic enemy number one again.

"We'd better offer the design to the Council as a gift before they find out about it through other channels," Quarn added. He led the way onto the closest shuttle. When he sat, Quarn's long cycles showed in his stiffness and the very genuine gasp of relief at getting off his feet.

Malani sat next to her bond-mate, moving with no less obvious pain, and it occurred to Wrex for not the first time, but in the most real way, that his time with two of his oldest and dearest friends was coming to an end. Despite Durrien and Prilla both working for the CDEM, Decan Quarn's death would hurt the krogan … all krogan.

Wrex sat across from his friend, trying to ignore the weariness he saw in Quarn's deeply lined plates. Losing Decan would gut him, but he and Samara would look after Malani and their children, and their grandchildren. As long as Wrex drew breath, none of the idiot turian's descendents would want for anything.

Samara's arm slipped inside his, her slender fingers weaving through his in an uncharacteristically intimate gesture. It surprised him but not quite as much as feeling no urge to tug his hand away and growl playfully. When he looked into her eyes, he saw the reflection of the same thoughts … the same grief that he felt. The lives of his family and Quarn's were interwoven so strongly that their loss would feel like losing two of his hearts, and he knew it would break Samara and Raxi's hearts as well. He nodded and squeezed her hand.

"So, how ugly a reception do you think we're going to get when we arrive on Palaven?" Raxi asked, flopping onto Wrex's lap. "Should _Hinah_ and I have our barriers ready to go?"

Wrex growled and wrapped his arm around her, crushing her ever so slightly as he watched the expressions flit across her face. "I'm holding you out in front of me, so you better have something planned. Your _hinah_ will throw me halfway back to Tuchanka if you get shot."

Raxi cackled and wrapped her arms around him, and the three of them flew back to the ship in a comfortable tangle.

Before Samara and Raxira entered his life, being krogan meant stabbing horror and loss in the face with his _sikah_ and carving out a good-sized chunk of cheek meat. After holding Samara through the painful, awkward nights post-Morinth, it meant being strength when she buckled, a rough sort of light when she got lost. After holding Raxi while she took her first breaths, it meant burning away fear with something warm and even more terrifying in its own way. He didn't hate it, though: the warmth or the fear … didn't want to tear it out and throw it to the varren.

Ever since Samara and Raxi, being krogan meant grabbing hold of fear, because without it, he might forget everything beautiful that fear brought along with it.

(Sorry for the long wait. Needed to concentrate on one story for a while. The good news is, I want to stay with Stones for a bit ... get us to where Shepard and Garrus show up. Thanks for all the amazing support. You're all just amazing.)


	15. Chapter Fifteen -- Disclosure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years. He'd watched his little girls and infant son turn into young people of brilliant intellects and unending curiosity. Ben and Eva moved to Elysium, heading up the colonization of the Vetus system. His people had turned the bleak, red rock of Mars into a home, the dome teeming with green and families and life: a piece of Earth transported and perfected.

**Disclosure**

**IPE** \- Interplanetary Expeditions Inc.

 **CFCI** \- Citadel First Contact Initiative

 **CPF**  - Chinese People's Federation

 **UNAS**  - United North American States

 **AEU**  - Asian European Union

 **AoN**  - Assembly of Nations

 **August 28, 2154**   **CE - The Auditorium, IPE Inc. Headquarters, Mars.**

Despite being a betting man of the highest order, Jack Harper wouldn't have put any money on being able to release the news about the prothean ruins on his own schedule. And yet, there he stood, at the podium in the bustling IPE headquarters on Mars, the entire foundation of his plans laid down and as strong as he could make it in five years.

Five years. He'd watched his little girls and infant son turn into young people of brilliant intellects and unending curiosity. Ben and Eva moved to Elysium, heading up the colonization of the Vetus system. His people had turned the bleak, red rock of Mars into a home, the dome teeming with green and families and life: a piece of Earth transported and perfected. He'd seen the surface of new worlds from the fresh perspective of his younger eyes, and prepared humanity to follow. Now, he just needed to convince them to do so.

He'd designed the week's events to amaze and inspire the AoN delegates and reporters, to keep them dazzled and off-kilter enough to avoid all questions of corporate secrets and IPE's

modest skirting of the law. Everyone knew the corporations ran the solar system … hell, barely a rock inside the orbit of Jupiter remained unclaimed by one concern or another … but of course, no one wanted to admit they didn't live in some perfect, utopian democracy. In about five minutes, he'd remind them in a major way.

Forget what they didn't know: things like his covert takeover and redirection of the Delta Pavonis Foundation and their plans to colonize Demeter. He couldn't allow other organizations to steal his thunder, beating his release schedule for workable FTL and colonization. Delta Pavonis now worked on homelessness and relocation in inner cities, a not unworthy endeavor and, naturally, entirely earthbound.

On the positive side, thanks to Anita Goyle and Amelia Sadis, IPE's reputation on Earth and Mars glowed with headlines of their humanitarian endeavours—unprecedented employment levels and almost non-existent homelessness within the UNAS—and technological leaps forward in medicine, engineering, and transportation. The public loved them, rating them the highest regarded and trusted corporate entity of all time. Despite the fact that the company made trillions selling artificial hearts or neural implants to return sight to the blind, the second the news flashed a picture of him in a park surrounded by ten kids with renewed vision or who survived because of an intrauterine heart replacement …  _voila_ , one corporate hero and man of the people made to order.

Jack turned his attention back to the hundreds of people milling about the auditorium, gathered in small clutches like frightened chicks as they debated and guessed at why IPE had dragged them all the way from Earth. In fact, only five people sat, still and silent in their chairs.

Sighing, Jack nodded to the head of the CPF delegation, Senator Uong. The sheer hatred and distrust in the woman's stare made Jack feel as though he should be twirling a moustache and cackling with evil delight.  _At last, my old nemesis … we meet face to face._

Tearing his stare away before Uong managed to cook his brain inside his skull using the power of hatred alone, he glanced up at the entrance. Security Chief Yakani nodded and took position in front of the closed doors: all attendees accounted for. He returned the gesture and dimmed the lights.

Trained practically from birth to respond to the lowered lights cue, the delegates ceased their speculative chatter and shuffled toward seats. Once every eye in the room focused on him, Jack took a deep breath and nodded to Bill. They'd start the presentation together despite the fact that Jack's interests now amounted to upwards of seventy percent of the company. The old man had supported him from the first, a trust that deserved respect and loyalty.

"Good morning," Jack said. He stepped to the podium and turned on the projector, bringing up a 135 degree, floor-to-ceiling holo-image of a sunrise over the construction colony on Eden Prime. "Welcome to Interplanetary Expeditions and an event we're calling 'One Giant Leap for Humanity.'" Strange that nearly a year of debate over what to call the unveiling came across so whimsically.

 _Thank you, Neil Armstrong_.

He held out his arm to usher Bill forward. "To start us off, I give you Mr. William Acker, IPE's founder and CEO."

Bill stepped up to the microphone. "What you're going to see this week is the result of twelve years of hard work from a huge team of people spanning the gamut from laborers to scientists, diplomats to pilots. In fact, we believe there has never been an effort to equal what IPE has accomplished in the last decade. Nor has the human race made leaps as far and as paradigm changing as they will after today." The CEO grinned as he turned to face Jack, one arm sweeping out to acknowledge him. "However, none of it would be possible without the unparalleled vision and genius of this man, President of IPE Mars, Jack Harper." Bill paused through the audience's tenuous smatter of applause before bowing a little and backing up. "That said, I'll turn you over to the man who will usher humanity out into the stars."

Another smattering of reluctant but polite applause.

Unphased, Jack waved an expansive arm toward the holo-image behind him. "What you're looking at is an image of an alien sun rising over our construction colony on a planet we've named Eden Prime." He stepped to the side, allowing the reality of what he said to sink in. When the murmuring began, he returned to the podium.

"Today, some of humanity's greatest minds will take you on a tour that shows you how we reached that distant world and how we intend to step forward and take a place within a galactic theatre." He paused as a group of construction personnel walked past the camera, chatting cheerfully about the day ahead of them.

"And we're just supposed to believe you that is some distant planet?" a male voice called out of the audience. "It could be taken anywhere on Earth, even staged, and we'd never know."

Jack picked up the remote control and stepped back, away from the podium. "IPE won't ask you to accept anything we present on faith. Over the next several days, we'll take you step by step through the same journey we've been on for more than a decade." Clicking the remote, he switched off the holo and opened the massive floor-to-ceiling shutters, revealing the majority of the dig site and the two prothean vessels.

Taking a deep breath, he waited as the audience burst into a shower of exclamations and murmured speculation. They craned their necks, lifting half out of their seats, some forgetting their manners entirely and standing to get a better look at the site.

Grinning, knowing he'd set his hook, he continued, talking over the noise until it ceased. "This adventure began twelve years ago with a survey mission to find a promising site for IPE's new Mars division." He brought up his enviro-suit's recording of the trip he, Ben, and Eva took into the crater all those years ago. "I had a hunch," he said, pausing the heavily-edited documentation, "that a crater this size might hide a wealth of rare, impact-seeded elements. Little did I know that it hid a great deal more than that."

He started the playback again, allowing the audience to experience the moments of discovery, all of his dialogue re-recorded to sound as surprised as Ben and Eva. "What we saw that day inspired all three of us to risk our families' businesses and wealth on a dream … the same dream that spurred humanity to reach for the moon and then the rest of the solar system."

For the next hour, he detailed the genesis of IPE's colonization and first contact program. Once the surprise wore off, he knew his audience would only allow him a short reprieve before impatience set in. They started to shift in their seats and glance from the projector to the view of the dig exactly three seconds before he finished the presentation.

His warm chuckle reinstated the expectant silence. "I understand your curiosity and eagerness to explore the site, so I'll turn you over to my daughters, Megan and Rachel Harper, for the tour." He nodded in response to the much more enthusiastic applause, and held an arm out to his two blonde beauties as they mounted the stairs to the stage.

The decision to bring the girls in to be the face of the group tours took less than a second to make. Between their natural wit and a wisdom beyond their years, no one else even entered his mind. Both girls worked in the labs wherever the family's travels took them, the two responsible for a modification to the infant artificial heart that allowed the organs to remain in their recipients longer. No group of diplomats and reporters, no matter how jaded or skeptical, posed the slightest problem for his girls.

He kissed them both on the cheek, then stepped aside, allowing them to organize the crowd.

Anita Goyle caught his eye, remaining in her mid-audience seat until the stadium cleared. She stood, her slow clap filling the silence that followed the hollow thump of closing doors. "Very nice, Mr. Harper. You've mastered the art of doctoring the facts so thoroughly that perhaps you should be considering the position of ready-made-galactic-ambassador." She grinned as she slid between the rows of seats, then strode down to the stage.

"I'll leave all that in your hands and gladly," he said, turning to walk over to the glass. He watched the tour group as they headed into the decontamination area, not envying his girls and staff the challenge of getting a couple hundred people into tyvek suits. "Depending on how the reveal goes, I want to move the first contact mission ahead to the eight week mark." He glanced her way, knowing that she understood in his vocabulary 'want' equated to 'make it happen'. "We're pressing the batarian issue hard enough that first official contact and conflict might come even earlier than I anticipated."

Letting out a long breath, he widened his stance and clasped his hands behind his back. "You're taking over the tour at the far end?" The question formed a dismissal; he already knew the answer. In order for Goyle to be taken seriously as a voice for the human race, she needed to emerge at the head of gifting the resources IPE was opening up to the AoN. She needed to shine as a driving force behind the formation of the Alliance of Planets out of the suddenly outdated Assembly of Nations.

"I'll shadow them through the labs," she offered on the way to the door. "Keep an eye on them in case they want to start lobbying before the hand off." She glanced back at the threshold, a sharp grin cutting a bright swath through the dim lighting. "Not that I see the delegates bringing up any issues that the girls can't handle on their own." She laughed. "Hell, most of them are so busy wetting themselves like excited puppies over the new, lucrative possibilities presented by colonization, Matt could handle them."

"Just make sure there's newspaper down." Jack rewarded her with a tilted grin that slid from his face the moment she turned to leave. Once the door hissed closed behind her, he lifted a hand to his radio. "Ms. Yakani?"

"On my way, sir," the head of security replied. "Just finished getting all the camera people sorted for the press conferences. They're secure in the visitor wing."

"Very good." He didn't doubt that they'd face more than their fair share of attempted security breaches, but he trusted Yakani to make sure that no one strayed out of the public areas. "Do you have the batarian intel?"

"It just came in." The door at the top end of the theatre opened, Yakani striding down the stairs, a late March ice storm contained within flesh and bone. "Unit Three procured the packages without detection and anticipates delivery to the Summit Project within the week." The woman sat in the front row, one leg casually slung over the other and activated her datapad.

She scrolled through the data for a moment, then tossed the pad to him. "The batarians tested Aratoht's defenses with a series of probes over the last ten days. They haven't made contact with our colony but I wouldn't be surprised if first contact comes complete with a lot of really big guns."

Jack rolled a chair over to the edge of the stage and sat, checking the intel. He didn't involve himself in the minutia of his different divisions, but first contact with the batarians had to be handled with care. "Keep the  _Flying Dutchman_  and her escort on standby, ready to move in on the secondary colony site as soon as the batarians are prepared to protest our presence."

Yakani nodded and stood. "Keep everything peaceful and friendly. Understood, sir." A sly smile crawled across her lips. Everything about the woman screamed 'can't wait to start a war, to hell with the casualties'. She belonged in a Cerberus that died in 2186. While Jack didn't lament the inevitable but necessary sacrifices that littered the path to his goals for a strong humanity, he could no longer stomach such blatant bloodthirstiness.

Suppressing a shudder as Yakani's reptilian gaze slid over his, Jack answered her nod with a rusted jerk of his head. He needed people like Yakani, and had worked with them for decades in his previous life, but he didn't recall them feeling so virulently poisonous before. Watching her leave, he shoved his shoulders back, snapped his spine straight, and swallowed a sour mouthful of what tasted like bile. Bringing humanity into the galactic community on his terms meant maintaining a constant balance … a ruthless ledger of cost versus result. Part of that strategy meant ensuring he positioned the batarians precisely … and part of that meant sacrifice.

"Standing in the dark, stewing?"

Drifting down the ramped floor, the voice blew away all the lingering chill, replacing it with a smile. No matter how many years passed, every time Patricia spoke, her voice warmed and settled him, a gift he didn't deserve.

"I don't stew, I plan," he replied without turning to face his wife. His attempt to lace the words with playful indignation fell flat: too close to the truth for comfort.

"Of course." She chuckled and mounted the stairs, climbing to stand behind him. Gentle arms slipped around his waist. "Do you want to talk about it? We do well when planning together."

Jack shook his head. No, he needed Patricia and the kids to stay clean and distant. They deserved to remain pure, their consciences unburdened with the weight of his decisions. Instead, he turned in her arms, embracing her. "The decisions are made, everything is set. We just need to get through the next few days."

Patricia rested her head over his heart, her arms tightening. "You're taking us to the stars in peace and in strength." She spoke in a breath-soft whisper, the perfume of her enveloping him in the peace and strength she spoke of. "Never doubt that they'll all see the dream, Jack. When they see what you've built, they'll witness destiny made manifest and grab hold with both hands. No one will fail to see that you act upon the wisdom of God's will."

Closing his eyes, Jack rested his brow against the honey-coloured silk that swept back from her face into a loose bun. "I couldn't have come this far without you," he replied, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of her ear before drawing back.

She pulled free of their embrace, the absence of her warmth and sweet scent coaxing Jack to return to her arms, her smile bracing him for the rest of the day. "Of course you would have, but I don't know who that man would be, hardened, his heart closed to what's most important."

Jack tugged her back into his arms, burying his face in against her neck. "I know that man. He died alone, lost to his delusions … to his endless battle for control."

Patricia held him for long minutes, her arms still and strong, her breathing the only sound he heard. When his grip on her loosened—his ghosts disappearing into the black-hole born from losing his wife and children—he felt her withdraw, slowly giving him his space to shrug all his armour back into place.

"It's a new world because of you, Jack. A brand new galaxy." She kissed him, just a gentle brush of lips, then stepped back, leaving the front of his suit cold and thin, poor protection from the cruelties of life.

He nodded and released her to tug down the front of his jacket, smoothing the shoulders and sleeves. "A brand new galaxy," he repeated, then smiled, his calm returned, slamming into place. "One my family had better get packed to travel to."

Patricia leaned in, glowing like Venus before the dawn as she brushed her lips over his skin once more, this time his cheek. "Indeed. See you aboard the  _Jamestown_ , my love."

 **August 29, 2154**   **CE - The observation/tactical lounge of the Colony Ship,** _ **Jamestown**_ **, stationed at the Charon Relay.**

Jack's attention turned from the spinning rings outside the huge pane of transparent aluminum, shifting to the reflection of his aide as she walked through the open door. The afterimage of the glow obscured her face, but he knew her nonetheless. He took a deep breath, but made sure not to let any of his nervousness show. Everything he planned for humanity's future depended on the next several hours.

"Mr. Harper? The delegates from the AoN and reporters have all arrived and are seated in the forward observation dome." The orange glow of her datapad never wavered, both hands holding it clasped below her waist, solid and unflappable. Despite how long it had taken to find her, Ms. Obikwelu's sharp mind and professionalism made her well worth the wait. She lifted the datapad, typing on it for a moment before continuing, "Both the  _Port Royale_  and the  _Cape Town_  report ready to traverse the relay."

"What's the mood?" He'd thrown a lot at the group over the past day. Next stop, the other side of the relay and the Arcturus Stream. As beautiful and massively defensible as they'd made the new station, he wouldn't know how the politicians reacted to the gift until he gave it to them. Hopefully they'd see that they needed a galactic governmental hub with four colonies already constructed and another on the way.

"They're in shock, but are very excited about the research facilities you opened to them on Mars, and they're already talking about the possibilities opened up by FTL travel, stealth drives, and artificial gravity." Obikwelu paused, a slight shake of her head drawing Jack's instant and intense attention.

"What?" He took a step toward her, the question an invitation.

A half-sigh, half-grumble rolled from her throat. "There are a lot of whispers being made into omnitools, sir. Whispers about how the tech can be used to weaken IPE's position and take advantage."

Jack nodded, keeping a smile locked down behind his inscrutable business mask. "They're getting used to you being part of their number. Take note of who is making those whispers." Another nod invited her to accompany him as he strode to the door and out. "I'll go in first, get their attention, then you go in, move to the back."

"Yes, sir." She stopped at the elevator. "I'll stop in the computer core and have the VI run an internal scan, make sure everyone is where they should be."

He nodded without pausing, continuing to the door that let to the Starboard Observation and Recreation Area. They'd built each of the colony ships to serve as the center of a small community. In his previous lifetime, the Alliance purchased prefabs and slapped them down on every world they could, putting in far too little thought as to defense and aesthetics. Their careless haste—no, reckless haste—created the opinion among the other races that humans amounted to nothing more than rash upstarts. What else could they expect when they treated the entire colonization process like a dare to spread faster than the average virus.

No, Jack intended to present the galaxy with a humanity of strength, culture, and beauty. The colony ships boasted large, graphene domes over resplendent gardens and water features that recycled the grey water. Each boasted ten point defense cannons and five mass accelerator cannons built off the Thanix designs the turians created to deal with the geth. A thousand people on each ship living in homey, beautifully outfitted apartments, as safe and secure as anyone on Earth … perhaps moreso. As he walked the corridors and moved between decks, Jack felt pride … no, not pride, but an intense satisfaction.

He paused outside the glass and wood doors to the ship's recreation center and auditorium, his heart restive inside the cage of his ribs. Twelve years—plus an entire lifetime—all came down to the next twenty minutes. Although not a religious man, he could feel Patricia's prayers pushing him forward. He gripped the door handles. Time to take humanity to the stars.

**August 30, 2154 (Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream)**

Jack inhaled a long breath and closed his eyes, allowing a rare, selfish moment of nostalgia to push back the pain pounding behind his eyes. The yellow leaves on the poplar trees rattled in a temperate, artificial breeze. The colour of golden apples, the leaves' scent tangled around him, sweet with memories of Earth … a perfect October day … his little girls galloping toward the woods on their ponies, calling back for Patricia and him to hurry … holding hands with his wife as their horses followed along at a much more leisurely pace.

"The gardens are coming along very nicely."

The voice startled Jack from his indulgence, his eyes snapping open, his heart stalling for a fraction of a second as his headache shrieked. He let out a long breath when his attacker stepped out from behind some bushes, the blur of migraine-induced, multicoloured squiggles of light clearing to reveal an elderly man—one of the first colonists to volunteer, if he remembered correctly … William? Wilfred? Anyway, he never forgot a face, even if the name escaped him—stood three metres away, his overalls grubby and a pair of sheers in his hands. Not expecting anyone in the gardens at that hour, Jack stepped back. "Pardon me?"

The man's tanned face creased into a jolly grin. "The gardens are coming along well," he said. "These roses will be ready to put on a show within the next couple of weeks, and the trees all took the accelerated growth very well."

Jack smiled at the sheer level of the pride beaming from the colonist's face. "The change since I last came here is remarkable. You and your fellow landscapers should be very proud of the work you've done throughout the station." Turning a slow circle, he nodded, truly pleased with the transformation. It outstripped even the presidium in its beauty. "You've turned a chunk of metal and polycrete into a home."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Harper." The man stepped up, holding out one soil-covered hand. After a second, he laughed self-consciously and wiped his palm on his overalls. "Sorry about that, sir. Don't want to muck up your fine suit."

"Don't worry about that." Jack shook the man's hand. "My hands have been dirty more than a few times. Thank you for all your hard work," he said, gripping the hand firmly when William or Wilfred started to pull away. "It's people like you that are going to be held up as examples of humanity's strength and dedication."

Blushing, the landscaper stepped back. "No, thank you, sir. Your program took me and my family off the streets and gave us a new life. We're forever grateful."

Jack stepped in to squeeze the elderly fellow's shoulder. "Thank yourselves. All I did was make an offer; you took hold of it." He bowed his head ever so slightly. "Keep up the good work." Moving on without waiting for an answer, Jack made his way toward the far exit and the corridors to the docking bay. He needed to rest before the headache reached the hanging-helplessly-over-the-toilet-bowl stage. The tour of the station started early the following morning and ran late, the trip to Mindoir taking place overnight.

Mindoir. Where Shepard grew up. The manifests called to him, insisting that he check to be sure his interference hadn't disrupted Shepard's arrival in the galaxy. However, despite their draw, he avoided them, afraid that even knowing that she and her parents were aboard might lead to some unforeseen consequence.

The  _Jamestown_ ,  _Port Royale_ , and  _Cape Town_  would join the three ships sent through six months earlier, forming an interlocking fortress housing five thousand. He hoped the spectacle assuaged some of the whispers he'd heard over the past day. At such an early stage, defense and sustainability formed legitimate concerns, and he certainly couldn't fault the whisperers for their doubt.

_And I wonder why I've started getting headaches._

The air shifted, closing in, trading the sweet scents of flora for the ozone of the recyclers, as he left the large central dome for the corridors and alleys leading back to the  _Jamestown_. The posh hotel at the center of the garden district was keeping the representatives and reporters busy with fine dining and entertainment and then housing them for the night.

Considering his duty to the uptight and pompous concluded at the end of the evening's banquet, and unable to bear their company for another moment, Jack opted to remain aboard the ship. A smile relaxed his features as he pictured his family, probably all curled up on the bed while they told Matthew stories. He checked his chrono; yes, it quickly approached Big Matt's bedtime.

The close air drew tighter around him, the echo of footsteps bouncing off the walls: two men walking with heavy steps and purpose. Dread chastised him for going out alone, two lifetimes of experience promising those footsteps didn't come attached to friends. Damn.

Jack rounded the last corner, the long alley ahead of him ending in an elevator: a noose just waiting for him to stick his neck into it. Patricia warned him to take guards with him. After all, he'd packed his tour with all of the people who most wanted him dead. He'd assured her that no one would dare threaten him.

_More the fool you, Jack Harper. You're not the Illusive Man any more._

He sighed, and squared his shoulders, also reconsidering his policy of not carrying a weapon as he strode into the jaws of the trap. It might be nothing at all, just his paranoia kicking up a fuss in the face of his disclosure tour going off so flawlessly.

The doors opened to reveal the ambassador for the Chinese People's Federation, Senator Myeki Uong. Not paranoia, then. Without pausing, he took a deep breath and entered the elevator, pressing the control for the  _Jamestown's_  dock.

"Good evening, Senator," he said, stepping back to make room for the two goons who'd followed him down the alley. When the door closed, he shook his head. "Is this to be an assassination, then?"

A soft, derisive cough cut the air. "I can't very well assassinate the great humanitarian and visionary on the eve he gifts Earth's people with a new place in the cosmos, can I?" Uong sighed. "Even those who aided my investigation into your crimes now sing your praises as they pick out their posh new offices and living quarters. The AoN will be the Planetary Systems Alliance and based out of this station within a half year."

Well, at least she didn't plan to have him killed. He nodded, facing her on an oblique angle. "Is there something wrong with that? Humanity needs to join the galactic community from a place of strength. If I'd turned all this knowledge over to the AoN any earlier, would we be standing here?" He met her stare with one of equal steel. "Or would all the different factions be grasping and scrambling over one another, throwing down cheap, unsecured colonies wherever they could, racing to be the first to cover the most ground?"

She shook her head, her jaw set at a stubborn angle that promised he'd never convince her.

Jack turned to face her dead on as the elevator slowed. "If my methods seem extreme, it's because once we leave the false comfort and security of the Sol system, the dangers facing humanity and its future are extreme." He leaned in ever so slightly, including her in the secret. "We've got a long, dangerous road ahead filled with races thousands of years more advanced than we are. Help me prepare our people for that future."

The elevator doors opened, one of the thugs standing pressed against the frame to keep them that way.

Uong stared at Jack for a good thirty seconds—a sheet of unreadable, unwavering steel—before she nodded. "I can do that for the sake of Earth and her people." A soft growling sound rolled deep in her throat. "But I want one thing understood, Mr. Harper: I know what you've done. I know what you are, and I will not be made to forget it simply because you pretty it up as 'for the good of humanity'. The ends do not always justify the means." She stepped out of the elevator and turned back, dark eyes flashing with challenge. "Mark my words, Mr. Harper. There is always a reckoning. Always."

Jack watched the door slide closed before he whispered, "That could have gone worse." An uneasy ally remained an ally, and if Uong decided to move herself to the adversary side of the game board, he'd deal with her. If she remained on his side, allies didn't come much stronger or more stubborn.

He sagged back against the wall, his right hand lifting to press against his eye socket. Meanwhile, he just wanted to get back to his family, shower, and forget about the three hundred plates he needed to keep spinning.

No one spoke to him as he entered the front hatch and made his way down the CIC to the  _Jamestown's_  main elevator, allowing him to settle and center his thoughts. He couldn't afford to get distracted from the goal. The reapers and collectors wouldn't allow humanity concessions for Jack Harper's lack of diligence and focus.

He hurried through the large recreation area, pleased to see only a smattering of colonists taking advantage of the facilities. His confrontation with Uong had set his patience and migraine in the red zone. Dealing with a crowd of colonists, even the well-meaning ones … no, he just needed to get to his stateroom.

"Mr. Harper?" a man called. Two sets of footsteps, light and quick rather than ominous, hurried up behind him. What was it with all the ambushes? He inhaled the scent of the nearby lilac shrubs, their bouquet strong and sweet enough to taste.

Taking another deep breath to pack down his annoyance, Jack plastered a thin smile across his face and turned to face the speaker. He nodded to the man and woman. "Good evening. What can I do for you?"

The sandy-haired young man shook his head. "Nothing, sir … you've given us and so many other families a chance at a new life." He held out a hand well calloused from labour. "We just wanted to thank you. We were nervous about bringing the little one out here, but my sister and brother-in-law went to Mindoir with the first three ships. They say this new world—Mindoir—is a paradise."

Jack took the man's hand, shaking it once. "It's an excellent place for a new beginning. I'm pleased to meet you …." He left the end open.

The man grinned, a faint blush tinting the skin behind a field of freckles. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. Harper, where are my manners? The name is Shepard … John Shepard. This beautiful lady is my wife, Hannah, and the dumpling in her arms is Jane."

Jack stared down into the cherubic face: Jane Shepard. He held his breath, his blood running cold as he allowed himself to imagine the hell awaiting her. He shook the moment off, replacing it with cold, ruthless accounting. She needed to suffer in order to become the warrior capable of saving them all, but …. But, in that moment, he just saw a baby so like his own, and his resolve cracked.

"A pleasure to meet you," he managed to gasp around the molten lead pouring into his trachea. Tearing his gaze from the baby's brilliant green eyes, he breathed in: she smelled of talcum powder and berries. The lead burned through his lungs as that scent drew him back to a thousand bath and bed times. He backed up a step. He needed to escape … to get back to his family … to remember why sending that infant into pain and loss remained necessary … to remember the peerless warrior honed by her tragic past.

He choked on the words as he bowed his head and said, "I wish you all the best in your new lives."

"Thank you for the opportunity, sir," Hannah Shepard replied, green eyes sparkling with hope and excitement.

The parents turned their attention to their infant when she let out an angry squawk, presenting an opening for Jack to slip away. Striding across the rec centre at a speed just shy of running, he focused on the future, on the galaxy's need, shoving that baby's trusting, innocent gaze into a safe and locking it up in the furthest corner of his mind.


	16. Chapter Sixteen -- Slipping Skyward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrex stared across the gap between the council and the supplicant platform, eyes weary of the sight, nose sick to death of the bitter musk of fear, mouth tired of talking. Where was Shepard and her unique method of dealing with the council when he needed her? Still nearly two centuries from being born, that was where. Bloody inconvenient.

( **Previously on Stones Thrown Before the Tide:** Wrex kills Jarrod off sacred ground and begins to build the new krogan civilization. He rebuilds the ancient ruins, creating arable land for crops, and farming the natural predators of Tuchanka. With the help of his best friend and comrade, Decan Quarn, the krogan are earning the trust of the galaxy. A big step in this struggle is evacuating the quarians from Rannoch in the tail end of the Morning War. Wrex also asked an asari matriarch, Saela S'aris, to look into finding Rakhana, the drell homeworld. When Bakara died to save the united clans from the turian-planted bomb, Wrex vowed to hold the council's feet to the fire in her honour. Recently, the krogan stepped in as peacekeepers on the turian colony planet, Oma Ker, when rebels took Samara and Raxi hostage.)

**Slipping Skyward**

**Rahat** \- (krogan) Shit, feces, excrement.

 **Sikah**  - (krogan) A ritual dagger made from the tooth of a thresher maw awarded to young krogan after the rite of passage.

 **Hinah** \- Asari for mother (Bearing parent)

 **Makah** \- Asari for father (Non-bearing parent)

 **Kaika**  - Asari for daughter

 **Qadin** \- (pronounced kah-dihn) Female after undergoing the rite of passage (female version)

 **Qisan**  - (pronounced kee-sahn) Male after undergoing the rite of passage

 **Caris -**  (turian) Beloved

 **Puer**  - Child  **Puerin** : Children

 **Quirte-an**  - The turian equivalent of Mr. or Mrs. for a bond-mated couple.

 

**1967 CE The Citadel (4 cycles after the civil war on Oma Ker. 52 cycles after Bakara's sacrifice.)**

Wrex stared across the gap between the council and the supplicant platform, eyes weary of the sight, nose sick to death of the bitter musk of fear, mouth tired of talking. Where was Shepard and her unique method of dealing with the council when he needed her? Still nearly two centuries from being born, that was where. Bloody inconvenient. He muttered a string of curses under his breath, glancing over his shoulder to growl at Raxi when an elbow buried itself between the plates of his armour.

His  _kaika_  telling him to calm down amounted to the klixen telling the varren to behave.

And Wrex owned a monopoly on reasons and rights to impatience. Four cycles. Four frustrating, infuriating cycles waiting for the council and hierarchy to finish the Oma Ker inquest—as if the rebels abducting his family weren't reason enough to wipe them out. And then the council only decided there was grounds for a trial. That led to spending the past three weeks standing through endless, useless testimony and evidence.

Quarn, the lazy, old bastard, passed out on the tenth day, and remained in hospital. The turian insisted that he owed his collapse to frustration shorting out his brain, but Wrex knew better … they all knew better, though no one dared say it.

His patience so far past empty, wanting to spend what could be Quarn's last days by his side, Wrex forced down his urge to leap across the gap, grab a couple of councillors by the throat, and squeeze until their heads popped off.

He felt sure Shepard would approve. Of popping their heads off, that was.

Raxi shifted beside him, the pale blue aura of her biotics betraying her mental state. Reaching behind his daughter, he pressed a hand between her shoulder blades, silently urging calm. The glow faded, but didn't dissipate entirely. The varren advising the klixen once more.

"Clan Chief Urdnot," the salarian councilor said, placing his hands on his console, "after considerable debate, the council has approved your request to install the Urdnot Bakara memorial statue in place of the current Rachni War memorial."

"Your assistance," the turian councilor announced, "in settling the quarian-geth conflict, and the civil unrest on Oma Ker has been noted and greatly appreciated. It is our hope that the Urdnot Bakara memorial will continue to foster a more cooperative environment between the krogan and the rest of the races."

"Seriously?" Raxi jumped around Wrex, nimbly ducking his arm. "More than a half century after Bakara saved Urdnot and the allied clans from the turian-placed doomsday bomb, that's it? The best you can do is: here's your statue, take it, be grateful, and behave yourselves?" For a moment, her aura flared and sparked before she wrestled herself under control. "You've demanded they wait while you dither over accepting responsibility even though you knew full well those bombs were there."

She shrugged off Wrex's hand when he grabbed her shoulder, trying to pull her back. "I'm sorry,  _Makah_ , but this is long overdue." She focused her laser keen rage back on the council. "Time and time again, the krogan have allowed you to push them aside in the name of being good little community members. That's done."

Shaking his head, his hearts swelling until they ached inside his chest, Wrex stepped back, letting his fierce  _kaika's_  fury burn. Perhaps youth, in all its reckless passion, might cut through the impossible tangle of political  _rahat_. He glanced over his shoulder at Samara. Despite her expression remaining smoother than stretched canvas, her eyes crackled and snapped, sparks that betrayed the war going on within, pride slightly winning over horror. He winked before turning back.

"We remain concerned that Urdnot is developing weapon and ship technology," the asari councillor replied, her manner stiff and indignant. "Control yourself and step back before we have you ejected from this chamber."

Raxi took a long breath, powering up to holler them into submission. Wrex braced himself. He'd been on the receiving end of her temper more than once. Raxi could deafen the dead.

Instead of obeying, Raxi stomped her foot, planting herself, immovable and intransigent. "I will not be silenced! As a member of a council race, you are my representatives, and I'll have my voice heard." Raxi's voice echoed off the balconies as she let loose.

"Your 'concerns' about the krogan arming themselves are complete varren excrement, and you know it. You know Urdnot isn't making bombs or building ships; the CDEM provides you with detailed records all triple-checked and audited." She sliced the air with a hand, cutting off the salarian councillor, a move that made even Wrex wince. "You're not afraid of the krogan tearing the galaxy down; you know they've learned from what the rebellions cost them. You're terrified because they're the only people putting some real meat behind the ideals of forming a galactic community. What terrifies you is just how much currency their goodwill and compassion will carry."

Raxi paced along the edge of the platform, her stare of pure, blue flame never leaving the three councillors. "The krogan have stepped in time and time again to save lives while the three of you held committee meetings and dithered, making sure your asses were covered beyond anything else. Because of my  _makah_  and Urdnot, millions of asari, quarian, turian, and drell have received an answer when they called for help."

Stopping so suddenly that her boot treads squeaked on the polished floors, Raxira turned back to meet Wrex's awed stare. "Through it all, the only thing the krogan have asked is to be welcomed into the galactic community as equals … to be given a voice on the Citadel." That said, she visibly calmed, a gentle breeze blowing through to break up the anger.

The asari councillor stepped forward, her body rigid, her face an impassive but still-terrifying mask. "Urdnot Raxira, that will be quite enough." Her tone both froze the air and sliced it.

Wrex pulled his daughter back. "What of the drell?" he asked, taking Raxi's place at the edge of the platform, redirecting the asari councillor's anger. "Their placement on Tuchanka was a temporary measure while you found them a suitable desert planet. We don't have sufficient infrastructure to support their increasing numbers, and their planet is less than a century from collapse."

The asari crossed her arms, shedding her usual, porcelain demeanour. "The krogan insisted on saving the drell from the natural consequences of their evolution. In evacuating them from Rakhana, you took responsibility for their future."

Wrex stared at the three councillors ... at the nods from the other two as if he should understand that races facing their destruction needed to be left to die. Shock and disgust stabbed down his throat to tear out his voice, leaving him gawking at them like an idiot.

"And the quarians?" Samara asked from behind him. "Are they to be left to their fate as well?"

The turian councillor sighed and arched his neck. "The quarians broke council law. The expulsion of their representatives from the citadel was a direct consequence of their actions, as was their war."

"Would you have us save every species on the verge of extinction?" the salarian asked, spitting the words so hard that Wrex swore he felt droplets splash against his hide. "And what would we do with all these extra drains on our societies? We are not a daycare or a soup kitchen, Urdnot Wrex."

The clan chief chuffed, a guttural, derisive cough. "You'll doom us all. That thinking sparked the Krogan Rebellion. If you use people then throw them to the varren when they're not useful anymore … consider them trash and a drain on your resources, you leave them no choice but to fight back. Survival demands it."

He leaned forward, eyes narrowed, not bothering to mask his anger or menace. "The krogan are no longer scattered and isolated, Councillors. We've built a strong society with resources of our own, and we won't let your arrogance destroy us, the quarians, or the drell."

Spinning on his heel, he gathered Raxi in against his side. Layers of love and admiration ran heavy through his voice when he said, "You did good, pup."

His  _kaika_  wrapped an arm around his waist, burrowing in against his side. She remained silent until they stepped down from the supplicant's platform. "Too bad nothing we said got us any closer to an embassy or homes for the quarians and drell."

"It'll come, Raxira," Samara said, falling into step beside them. She emanated peace despite the fruitless session … glowed with it … the Aralakh in their sky. "Patience and compassion will prove the victor over fear and ignorance."

Wrex looked up at the sound of a familiar tread on the tile floor, seeing from the expression on Malani's face that the news about Quarn's condition wasn't good. Fists the size of varren jaws squeezed around his hearts, crushing them with a pain he remembered feeling only once in his old life. Unfortunately, unlike Shepard, Decan Quarn would not rise from his deathbed.

"He wants to see you," Malani said, her voice thin and strained. Her mandibles gripped the sides of her face as she spun and preceded them down the first set of stairs. "The doctors have told him to put his affairs in order. He wants to go home."

Wrex nodded, holding his  _kaika_  more tightly when she let out a soft whimper. "Then we'll take him home." On his other side, Samara slipped her arm through his: a silent show of grief and support. He pulled her in a little more tightly, knowing that under her solemn, justicar mask, she felt Quarn's impending loss just as keenly as he and Raxi.

"Urdnot Wrex!" The call and a raised hand lifted the clan chief's stare from the floor and his mind off his dying friend. Matriarch Saela S'aris hurried across the chamber, elegant and stately as always. While he might not classify her as a friend or even a trusted ally, he did believe in her support for the krogan.

Another asari walked at Saela's side, long and willowy in a dress of soft yellow. Unlike the more sly matriarch, the  _nais_  in yellow held herself with an almost painful looking control, her chin tipped upward, lips pressed thin … confident but guarded.

"Matriarch." Wrex nodded to S'aris and let out a long breath as he halted, waiting for her to hurry over.  _Rahat,_  hadn't he suffered through enough politics for fifteen lifetimes? He tried to think of casual small talk … but stopped caring after a half-second. "Can I help you?"

She smiled, her eyes flashing. "I'm here to meet with the asari councillor and the assembly of matriarchs. However, now I see you and your lovely  _kaika_ , I think I may have another purpose as well." Chuckling, a soft ringing sound, she held out a hand to Samara, touching her wrist to the inside of his mate's. "On a couple of fronts." Another wide smile and she turned all her attention to Raxi. "Look at you, Raxira. You're growing into a most impressive maiden."

The  _nais_  in yellow cleared her throat even as Raxi opened her mouth to respond to Saela's compliment.

"Oh, forgive my manners." S'aris held out a hand toward her companion. "Benezia, it's my pleasure to introduce you to Urdnot Wrex, chief of clan Urdnot. Wrex, a dear friend of the family, Benezia T'Soni."

Wrex stared at the  _nais_ , a low growl rolling deep in his chest as his memory threw him back—or was it forward?—nearly two hundred cycles: Benezia poised at the top of a flight of stairs, ranting; he and the rest of the squad paralyzed in stasis bubbles. Not even Liara's presence saved them one hell of a fight.

That Benezia, he reminded himself, wouldn't exist for nearly two centuries. Indoctrination had turned her into the puppet they battled. However, in the end, she'd broken free to help them. He nodded, but kept the gesture sharp enough to cut, and he tightened his grip on Raxi when she moved forward to touch wrists.

Despite shooting him an annoyed glare, his  _kaika_  merely nodded. "A pleasure, Lady Benezia."

Samara stepped forward to nod and touch the inside of Benezia's wrist. Wrex followed her, placing himself as close between them as he could without being overtly rude.

Saela inserted herself, blythely blocking Benezia from view as she checked her chrono. "I must go, but first …." She met Wrex's distrustful glare with confusion that lasted only a second before it disappeared. "If you were asked to recommend anyone for position of krogan liaison to the council, who would it be?"

Wrex's turn to be confused. He blinked, the question's first answer a painful one. He would have recommended Bakara without a second thought, mostly because of who she became in that other life. Other than Bakara, only one other name appeared in his head; someone he trusted implicitly to always have the krogan people's best interests in mind. Mellir.

The female clan chief wouldn't allow herself to be pushed around, and she believed in his vision. "Urdnot Mellir, chief of the Urdnot females," he replied, his tone flat. "Are we in need of a liaison?" Hope sparked, a tiny flame deep in his gut, but he crushed it before it truly caught. Nothing posed the same level of catastrophic danger as hope.

"Perhaps," she said, her expression coy. "Will you be remaining on the Citadel for the rest of the day? If so, perhaps we can meet for the evening meal."

Wrex glanced at Malani, but she shrugged. "We're returning to Tuchanka as soon as possible. I'll leave a message with our departure time if you're still shouting into the wind in an hour."

Saela's perpetual sly smile slipped into a thoughtful frown, and she clutched her portfolio closer to her chest. "Not a good result with the council?"

"Same  _rahat_." He nodded toward the council offices. "Good luck."

"I hope we can meet later." She turned and took three steps before glancing back.

Wrex didn't think he'd ever seen anyone look more at home in that massive room filled with features entirely meant to intimidate the people within. He doubted S'aris allowed anything to intimidate her.

S'aris tilted her head when the younger asari didn't follow. "Benezia?"

The asari matron flipped a casual hand. "These political machinations are much more your arena, Saela. I'll walk your friends to the elevator and meet with you at the top of the stairs."

Turning away from the matriarch with a dismissal that announced just how secure she felt in her status, money, and power, Benezia smiled and inclined her head toward the opposite end of the chambers. "If you'll allow me, of course."

Wrex shrugged, but met the matron's gaze with narrow eyes and a faint chuff. She reeked of everything that drove him crazy. "It's no hide off my hump," he replied, studying her to see if any signs of the crazy, evil lady appeared. He didn't find any, but one could never be too careful.

They walked in silence for less than five seconds.

"You look at me as if you know me, Urdnot Wrex," Benezia said, falling into step beside him. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at him, her stare feeling a little too like a bone-deep scan for comfort.

Wrex weighed his words carefully. As much as he'd hidden the source of his knowledge over the cycles, he prided himself in avoiding overt lies. This  _nais_  … somehow he doubted that she'd let him dissemble. He opted for simple.

"I don't." As he suspected, she arched one black-lined brow.

"Saela says you show a remarkable gift for prescience," she continued without calling him out. She clasped her hands in front of her, appearing to float on air as she stepped ahead of him and turned back. "If her tales of your fore-knowledge can be believed, perhaps you've glimpsed me in the future?"

Wrex chuckled, the laugh wry and sour. "If I had the gift, I wouldn't advertise it." He leaned down to nuzzle the top of Raxi's head, then gave her a gentle push toward the elevator. "I sense the elevator will take forever to get here. Run ahead and call it."

Raxi grinned. "Did the spirits tell you that,  _Makah_?" She dodged his teasing swat and offered Benezia a wide grin and a quick bob of the head. "A pleasure, Lady Benezia."

"And you." Benezia's gaze followed Raxi, but she fell in step next to Wrex once more. "I'm fascinated by these drell and how you knew of their existence before their planet had even been discovered. Saela says that you could only tell her it lay somewhere within hanar-controlled space."

Wrex nodded, that terrible spark flaring again. If Benezia stepped in to help with the drell, they'd be able to save so many more. They might even be able to repair Rakhana enough to support the drell who wished to remain on their homeworld.

"I don't see the future; I use common sense." He set himself to explain far more than he wanted to, but she shook her head, a welcome and unexpected reprieve.

"Remarkably few people take the time and effort to use theirs." She stopped once again. "I must return to Saela, but will you allow me to join her for your meeting? I believe you have a great deal to offer, and in return I may be able to offer a great deal myself."

Wrex stared at her for a moment before Samara broke her usual reticence and stepped forward to offer her wrist. "We welcome your wisdom, Lady Benezia. Thank you for the offer." His mate turned to him, her expression hard with tungsten-clad expectation.

Wrex rumbled a little as he dragged out the moment until Samara dug her elbow into him. And she blamed him for all of their  _kaika's_  bad habits. Finally, he nodded. "Fine." He smiled down at Samara, beautiful and fierce in her klixen shell armour. They might look asari, but his family was all krogan.

"Excellent." Benezia smiled, the expression softening her features until Wrex saw Liara reflected there. Liara had proven the kindest of them, the most soft-hearted … sometimes the wisest of them. She'd been raised by the  _nais_  in front of him, not the one they killed on Noveria.

He didn't step in when Benezia touched wrists with Samara.

"We'll speak again soon." With that, Lady Benezia T'Soni walked away, stately and elegant, at home amidst the glowing blossoms and fountains, even as she hurried to meet S'aris.

"Unexpected," Samara said, her voice soft but careful, always slow to trust. She might not hunt down criminals any longer, but her justicar instincts rarely proved false.

"Benezia?" Wrex wrapped his arm around his mate and pulled her in for a moment. Samara allowed it for just that moment before drawing away to a professional distance.

Still, she slipped her arm through his once more. "No, you." She smiled up at him. "I could tell your gift had shown you something about her that alarmed you. You reacted with instant distrust, but just as quickly, you turned it off."

"She showed me someone I didn't expect." He sped up. "Come on, the keepers will be harassing Malani and Raxi for holding up the elevator."

The four of them spoke little on their way to the hospital, everything else put on hold while they faced the reality of Quarn's condition. As the cycles passed, Samara and Malani spoke and traded wishes for their children's protection; she told him about the discussions at the end of day, in the silence of their chamber. Quarn, however … well, males just didn't sit around discussing their dying wishes. Unless of course, it involved imminent death. Soldiers tended to gasp out, 'take care of them' with their last breath on the battlefield.

"Will you speak to the doctors with me?" Malani asked him when they exited the cab at the hospital's front door.

Wrex led the way to the doors. "Do you think you're going to need krogan intimidation?" he asked, drawing his sikah from its sheath and slipping it through a very obvious strap on his armour.

The  _tarin's_  mandibles fluttered at the deadly blade, but she didn't tell him to put it away, either. After a couple of steps, she said, "If he stays here much longer, he will die. He needs the sun beating down on him, our  _puerin_  and theirs surrounding him."

Wrex reached out to squeeze her shoulder, leaving his hand there, steady and supportive as they entered the elevator. She didn't need to tell him what Quarn needed. Over the cycles, Quarn had become as much krogan as Wrex. He needed to hunt with his last steps … to go out as a warrior.

"Ah,  _Quirte-an_  Quarn," the turian physician called pretty much the moment they stepped off the elevator at the nursing station. "I need you to have your bond-mate sign these forms as to what his end-of-life directives are."

Wrex didn't release Malani as he turned to his family. "Go ahead in. Make sure he doesn't hear this varren's ass talking about his end of life directives."

Raxi gulped, struggling to hold back tears, and when the doctor tried to continue, he met with Wrex's hand a half centimetre from his face. Wrex glared at the physician until he nodded and backed up a step, then turned to crook a finger at his daughter.

"Just go in like you did when you stayed with them overnight," he said, his voice firm more for the doctor's sake than Raxi's. "Your uncle is too ornery to leave us, yet." Wrex pulled Raxi into a half-hug and nuzzled her crest.

"Urdnot Wrex …." The doctor sputtered, going silent and a shade more pale having drawn Wrex's attention again.

"Go on, pup," he said over his shoulder. "We're right behind you." Samara stepped in as he released their daughter, pulling Raxi into the circle of her arms, whispering comforting words.

"We're taking Decan home," Malani said, stepping out from under Wrex's bolstering hand, back straight, neck arched. "Please prepare his medications and instructions for any care he needs at home. We'll be sure he gets it."

The doctor shifted a little. " _Quirte-an_  Quarn … he's frail. Even moving him could kill him."

Malani stiffened. "He's frail because he's been too long away from what gives him strength. Please prepare for him to leave as soon as possible." Without another word, she spun on her talons and marched into her bond-mate's room.

Wrex stared the anxious doctor down. "If he's going to die, he'll do it on Tuchanka with his family … all his family … gathered around him. Prepare him to leave as his mate asked." With that, he spun away as well, following the rest of them into the room.

Raxi was curled in against Quarn's side, her arms wrapped around his neck. Samara stood just behind their  _kaika_  while Malani held her bond-mate's hand on the other side.

"Now I know why you pulled the whole fainting act," Wrex said, and gave a barking chuff. "You're pathetic, playing it up so you get the dainty princess treatment."

Quarn preened a little, his neck arching. "You're just jealous you don't have three gorgeous females fawning over you."

Wrex laughed, low and short, the stink of hospital burrowing into his throat. While the females fawned, he needed to be honest. "The doctor says if we haul your withered, old carcass to Tuchanka, it could kill you." He met Malani's sharp temper with a relaxed shrug. If he started coddling the old fool, Quarn would suspect Wrex was on his deathbed.

"I'm only 135-cycles-old, Wrex, and I've still got work to do." Quarn reached out for Malani's hand. "Take me home, and I'll get better. Whatever this is, it has no choice in the matter."

Wrex swallowed hard and nodded, not trusting his voice. In his life, he'd loved only three people as much as his friend. Neither had the krogan known a more fierce advocate. As much as he wanted to believe his friend and hoped the doctors were wrong …. Well, the very least he could do is take Quarn back to Tuchanka and if he passed, pay him a last tribute at the Hollows.

Raxi curled in against Quarn's side, her face buried in the sheets at his shoulder. "We'll go home," she agreed, shining eyes glancing up to meet Wrex's. After a second, they nodded, sealing a silent pact and she returned to her uncle's arms. "And you know that Malani, Durrien, and Pri will never want for anything."

Quarn nuzzled the top of her head. "Hey, listen up, I refuse to die before the krogan have an embassy. The doctors are just going to have to deal with that." He hugged her tight against his side. "And I've still got a lot to teach Pri about being the CDEM commander. You krogan are a pain in the cloaca." The  _torin_  let out a long breath and looked up at his bond-mate, then Wrex. "But I know that when my time does come, they'll be in the best of hands,  _caris_. I wouldn't entrust them to anyone else."

Raxi leaned up and planted a kiss on the end of Quarn's nose. "You're impossible, but I love you, you ornery, old  _torin_."

Quarn chuffed. "Look who's calling who ornery." He smiled at Malani. "Screw the council; let's go home. Bakara's statue is as much as we can hope for out of this session." His gaze shifted to Wrex. "Raxi said that Matriarch S'aris wants to meet with you?"

Wrex nodded. With the need to return home so immediate, he resented politics rearing its ugly head to delay their departure, even if S'aris's politics favoured the krogan. He longed for Aralakh's rays and Tuchanka's bitter sand as much as his friend did.

He needed to get home and get back to work. If the council refused to help them, it just meant that he needed to dig in harder. They merely needed to keep pulling themselves—and the drell—up. Shepard might be alive by the time the council acknowledged the new krogan society, but one day, those bastards would stand up and welcome the fringe races into the fold.

He chuffed, a vision of the conditions on Haratar and the flotilla flashing through his mind. If the fringe species still existed by then. When all eyes turned to him, he shrugged, not wanting to lay the pressure of the quarians' pending disaster on them as well. One problem at a time.

"After we meet with S'aris, then." Quarn reached up to touch his mate's face when she inhaled, preparing to argue with him. "It'll do me good to wear clothing and eat real food." His mandibles flicked. "They keep feeding me old-crippled-toothless-turian mush. It's so bad, I'm embarrassed for them."

Chuckling, Wrex leaned down to scoop Raxi up in his arms, his pup giggling and squirming as he pulled her in to nuzzle her cheek. "Let the old  _torin_  get out of bed and dressed." Setting her down, Wrex held her tight against his side. "We'll be in the lobby." Ushering his  _naisa_  ahead of him, he strode from the room.

"What do you think Saela wants to talk to us about?" Raxi asked, jogging ahead of her parents to palm the elevator's door control. Practically bouncing on the spot, she muttered to herself. "Maybe it's about helping us settle the drell into the Raymar Valley. Or maybe they have a way to help Rakhana heal."

Wrex pushed her through the door onto the carriage. "We'll find out when we get there."

Grinning, she popped onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Whatever it is, I know it's going to be brilliant. I just know it."

Samara shook her head as she leaned against the railing so she faced them. "Where did you get all this optimism, springing from two of the most pessimistic beings in the galaxy?"

Raxi's expression flipped to a frown of mingled confusion and annoyance. "Pessimistic?  _Makah_  is going against a thousand cycles of history in the belief he can get the krogan accepted as equals, and you became a justicar because you believed that justice and right can win the fight against evil." She sucked the backs of her teeth and let out an indignant huff of breath. "Pessimistic, my pretty blue backside."

When they reached the lobby, they moved off to one corner, Wrex placing himself between the crowd and his family, eyes moving restlessly over the crush of people. A cluster of batarians in gang armour stood around the desk, their apparent leader leaning across the desk, his spine too stiff, his fists and jaw clenched. Before the clan chief decided to stride over and step in, the asari behind the counter set the batarian back, her biotics glowing around her fist.

Wrex chuffed. He should know better than to think the  _nais_  needed his interference; both of his could spit more fire than a klixen when needed.

* * *

The asari in yellow either didn't notice Wrex's deep-scan-intensity or it didn't bother her. Either way, her feathers remained unruffled. Still, he stared, making use of their table's spot in the restaurant's darkest corner to hide his scrutiny. He didn't know if his alarms lied to him as they sat silent. He knew she couldn't possibly be indoctrinated: reaper technology remained a complete unknown.

"This is my bond-mate's favourite place to eat," Saela S'aris said, breaking the silence with a cheery laugh. "Although that might be because their chairs don't collapse under him." She aimed a crooked smile and a wink at Raxi before addressing the table. "Would you do me the honour of allowing me to order?"

"As long as you order meat," Quarn grumbled, his mandibles flicking away the bitterness in his tone. "Lots and lots of meat."

"Certainly, Commander." Saela S'aris tapped at the menu, even while the others murmured or grunted their assent. Less than a minute passed before she set it down, distracting Wrex from his continuing, but unproductive analysis of Benezia.

The break in his concentration allowed the warm, rich scents of roasting meat and baking bread to infiltrate his senses, making his belly grumble. It had been too damned long since breakfast.

Across the table, Benezia focused on Raxi, her expression intense as she grilled the maiden with questions about schooling and her biotics training. If Raxi felt any discomfort, she hid it behind a mask serene enough to make Samara proud, while her answers set Wrex's hearts booming like the massive drums that surrounded the  _Birinc Qan_  arena. The universe didn't make people braver or more brilliant than his Raxi.

"I have several maidens and young matrons among my retinue who wish to study with krogan battlemasters," Matriarch S'aris announced without any preamble, pulling his attention from his  _kaika_. She met Wrex's gaze directly, the ever-present, sly smile not extending to her eyes. "In fact, my  _kaika,_  Aethyta, approached me, wishing to study with the krogan. She believes the asari need a chance to become warriors in addition to commandos." The sly tilt to her smile slid from her lips, something honest taking its place. "That inspired me, and the next thing I knew, I created this … " She activated her omnitool, a large 3D blueprint spreading over the table. "... idea and sent it to my architect."

Wrex studied the holographic model of what looked very like a campus built around his  _Birinc Qan_  stadium. The style replicated the  _gikgahs_  and the stadium itself, blending seamlessly into the Tuchankan sand. "What am I looking at?" he asked, not bothering to hide his suspicion.

"An academy," S'aris said, her grin widening. "We want to bring the krogan into the galactic community, how better than by opening a center of learning? Krogan youth don't want to leave home for higher education, and why should they?"

"Education?" Aware that he sounded like an idiot, the entire restaurant spinning around him, Wrex stared at those buildings, both awed and terrified. As real and tangible as his efforts to reclaim the rubble-strewn crust of his planet, that university—for that's what it was—would elevate his people to heights he couldn't imagine. His people could start turning out intellectuals as strong as any warrior, reclaiming all the science and art they'd lost in their disastrous nuclear war.

The galaxy—the krogan included—forgot that at one time the krogan had split the atom, built structures as grand as any on Thessia or Palaven, and been a thriving, civilized—if war-like—people. S'aris wanted to give all of that back to them.

But were they ready?

When he shook off the vague dizziness and focused on S'aris, he found her laser-keen stare fixated on him.

"What do you think?" she asked, her smile saying she'd already read his answer in his eyes.

Wrex grunted, the sound competing with Raxi's excited ooo's and ah's as she stood, leaning over the blueprints.

"The asari could learn a thing or two from the krogan," he said, packing down the excitement and hope that tried to muscle its way to the surface. Still, as he stared at those glowing, blue lines, Wrex couldn't help the flame that crept up his spine to whisper that he stared at Tuchanka's future.

Benezia cleared her throat. "S'aris came to me over a cycle ago about the problem of supporting the growing drell population on Tuchanka." She waited until everyone's attention shifted to her and the first blueprint disappeared in favour of one that showed a patchwork of farmland strewn with small clusters of buildings. "As much as we can span the gap with imports, we have been working on a longterm solution to allow the drell a large measure of self-sufficiency."

"But the thresher maws and other predators," Raxi said, voicing Wrex's concern with their plans before he did. "They'll pull down buildings, tear up crops, eat livestock … and settlers. Most things on Tuchanka like a tasty settler."

The plan zoomed out to show a massive perimeter fence. "Ultrasonic fence with footings all the way down to the bedrock," Benezia replied. "We can bring in recyclers to augment your current efforts. Once the land is clear and the fence erected, we can begin reclamation of the soil and groundwater. Timetable for a settlement capable of supporting several million drell is ten cycles."

"And meanwhile?" Samara asked. "There are billions starving on Rakhana." She shifted in her chair, leaning away from the plans. "Are we to watch them die?"

S'aris straightened and tapped at her omnitool interface, the plans disappearing. "I met with drell leaders last month and proposed an aggressive decontamination and reclamation effort centered on two of their largest population areas." She shook her head, her elegant features suddenly drawn and hollow in the flickering light. "We simply don't have the resources to work as quickly as they need us to in order to save all of them. The industrial damage is overwhelming. We hope to be able to create an ecosystem capable of maintaining their population at one-third the current number."

As the matriarch drew breath to continue, servers arrived with a vast assortment of dishes, including three different dextro meats. Wrex chuckled at Quarn's throaty moan, the  _torin_  diving into the platters with amusing desperation. If he complained of a sore belly later … well, he'd made his bed.

While the others served themselves, Wrex watched S'aris. He hadn't trusted the matriarch when they met. She seemed too canny, working too many angles … too much a politician. Still, in all the intervening decades, she'd been one of the krogan's staunchest allies. Sitting behind his empty plate, Wrex wondered why the asari had never offered to help reclaim Tuchanka.

"Wrex?" S'aris broke through a building, angry fog. "Are you all right?"

He nodded, one curt shake of his head, and set into the feast set out before them. As he ate, he listened, most of his questions finding their voice and their answers through the others.

"Rebuilding the destroyed Shroud towers will be an important first step." Benezia pushed her empty plate away, her utensils crossed over it. "We need to seed the atmosphere to start collecting moisture and regulate the surface temperature. We should conduct an intensive, planet-wide flora and fauna DNA sweep, reclaim or develop species hardy enough to survive current conditions and yet flexible enough to endure change as the climate moderates."

Settling back into his very sturdy chair for the first time since they arrived, Wrex picked at his meal—the elegant food going down without his tasting it—while listening to Benezia talk. The plans for what needed to be done to bring Tuchanka back to pre-nuclear glory went on for more than an hour, until exhaustion turned Quarn pale and ragged around the edges.

Wrex cleared his throat to break into the conversation. "It's past the commander's bedtime." He held S'aris's gaze. "You're coming to Tuchanka in a couple of months?"

S'aris nodded. "I'd like to move it up to the end of this month." She pushed her chair back and stood. "Is that too early?"

"No." He stood, shoving his chair backwards hard enough it almost fell, the legs thumping against the floor as it rocked.

"May I accompany Matriarch S'aris to Tuchanka?" Benezia asked. "I'd also like to bring along some climatologists and engineers to study the Shroud sites."

"Why?" Wrex asked. He nodded for Malani to start Quarn toward their ship, then looked to the two asari. "What will be the cost of all this?" He waved at the table, indicating the plans they'd shown. "Don't bother throwing sand in my face. You want something."

Benezia stared at him through narrow eyes, the first crack he'd seen in her mask. After a moment, she nodded. "Very well. Some information we discovered on Thessia indicated there may have been intensive prothean archives on Tuchanka. They're buried beneath the rubble of the war. In exchange for helping you reclaim your planet, we would like access to any prothean ruins or technology discovered there."

That was it? Wrex's turn for the narrow-eyed stare, but instead of expressing his incredulity, he nodded and thrust his jaw forward. "You'd share all your research with the krogan?"

"Naturally," she replied, standing when Malani stood.

He turned to S'aris. "We'll see you on Tuchanka in a few weeks." He clasped wrists with the matriarch, her grip almost punishing.

"Excellent." She gave his wrist another bone-crunching squeeze before turning to say goodbye to Samara and Raxi.

Movement at the other side of the restaurant grabbed Wrex's attention, and he straightened, spine rigid, when he saw the turian councillor, Mezus Hirrian, striding toward their table. Dammit, he knew he should have picked the restaurant and taken them somewhere small, hidden in a back corner of the wards.

The  _torin_  stopped next to Wrex, bowing his rugged, steel-blue head to the rest of the table before focusing in on the clan chief. "Urdnot Wrex, may I have a moment of your time?" He held out a gloved hand to indicate the door to the patio. "There's something I wish to discuss with you."

Wrex stepped around Samara's chair, a raised finger ordering Raxi back into her chair. Instead of talking, he merely lifted his chin and held out a hand, inviting the councillor to go ahead. As they made their way between tables and out onto the wide balcony, Wrex studied his opponent, looking for any sign of aggression or anxiety. Not that a councillor would murder someone in public, but the odds of a sniper stretched wide enough to fill all the open air between Wrex's skull and the nearest building. Searching what balconies he could see, he found nothing.

_Doesn't mean there isn't something to find._

Hirrian cleared his throat, the sound so sharp that Wrex ducked, certain of a rifle shot. Cursing his ancestors and fervently hoping the councillor hadn't seen him jump, Wrex straightened, boosting his armour up his shoulders to add menace to his looming and brooding.

"Matriarch S'aris sings your praises," the  _torin_  said when they stood alone at the railing, overlooking the presidium. "She says that you've all but eradicated clan feuds through the institution of these ritual battles.  _Birinc Qan_ , I believe she called it?"

Nodding, Wrex leaned against the railing and crossed his arms. "Yes."

"Next month, I'm touring several military facilities with Primarch Tellius and several of our prominent generals." The bronze stare that met and held Wrex's remained even and curious. "I'd like to include your facility on our itinerary." One brow plate lifted. "The day is coming when the council will no longer be able to deny the changes you've made," he said, leaving the statement unqualified.

Wrex chuckled, low and throaty, the combustible mixture of amusement and bitterness churning in his gut. The council needed the krogan. They needed voices that didn't blather on without ever saying anything ... members unafraid to stick their necks out. Of course, if he intended to be a leader willing to risk decapitation, he couldn't deny the councillor's visit.

And if someone took shots at the councillor and Palaven's primarch during a goodwill appearance, the council could advertise the krogan people's lack of reformation on every planet spinning.  _Rahat._  Disaster awaited either way.

"Fine. Your people can arrange the details with Urdnot Mellir and the CDEM commander, Prilla Quarn."

"Thank you. I look forward to seeing what you've accomplished." Hirrian nodded, then spun on a talon and strode back into the restaurant.

Raxi poked her head out a couple of seconds later. "What did he want?" she asked, expression bright and animated. "Did my yelling get through his thick, plate-covered head?"

Wrex packed down the unease slithering through his guts and gathered her under his arm. "I'll tell you once we're on our way home."

She grinned at him, beautiful eyes so like her  _hinah's_  sparkled up at him, filled with mischief and all the hope he couldn't allow himself to feel. "Things might just be looking up."

Wrex nodded and gave her a squeeze. "As an old friend used to say, 'stranger things have happened.'"

* * *

 

(A-N: First of all … OMG, you guys … your comments and reviews for the last chapter just … had me floating. I wrote this and half of the next chapter just high on your support. Thank you so much. I've had people ask if it is okay to comment. I just stare at the message … then squee at them. Of course it is. Feedback is our life's blood. Well, that and your tears. Mwahahahahahaha. Thanks as well to the FFN community Alternate First Contact War for posting this fic on their list of amazing fics. I cried like a baby … a hungry, angry baby. Welcome new followers! Sorry if the next part makes you uncomfortable. :D

So yeah … thanks as always and *GIANT HUGS* even if you hate hugs, just grimace and curse and take the love. )


	17. Chapter Seventeen - First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swinging his legs out of bed, he sat on the side, eyes pressed tight against the flickering lights of a migraine aura. As sleep drew back, someone tossed a grenade into a shed of ammunition deep within his skull. Fireworks flared behind his eyelids, keeping time with the rapid thunder in his ears and the drum corps at his temples. Expending minimal thought, he reached for the bottle of analgesics next to the bed, pouring four into his hand. Bloody nightmares.

**September 2, 2154**   **CE - The Jamestown moored into its permanent place on Mindoir**

_Panic. Reds and golds shred the black, the night shattering into thunder and screams. Flames lick the skin of his life until it splits open, the flesh of peace and normality nothing more than bloody pulp beneath the char, the fresh edges still weeping sanguine lymph. He stares through the starved flames, his mind rejecting the slavering tongues that lap up his entire world. Why can he still see them? Why does the canned laughter of the show they'd been watching pummel his ears in time with his pulse and the thunder of the bombs?_

_Choking on smoke and bile, he charges the flames, leaping into every perceived weakness in the line, only to be driven back. He sees their bodies, Patricia in her chair, hands still holding knitting needles, the girls thrown into the back of the couch, almost indistinguishable from the leather. He sees, and yet he doesn't believe, diving into the next opening. He needs to get them out!_

" _Jack, stop!" Hands tear at him, peeling back the blisters until his arms and shoulders weep bitter tears. "They're gone." A sob punctuates Eva's words, a final punch that lands a knockout blow._

* * *

The black thundered inside Jack's head, the uneven, pounding heartbeat of the drums replacing his pulse. A small light next to Matthew's bed illuminated the space just enough to disguise it in shadows, foreign and menacing. He fought the duvet and sheet, their too tight, too warm malevolence wrapping around him, pulling him under, dragging him back into the flames.

Three seconds, as bleak as the field of ash left by the turian bomb, passed, the canned laughter and thunder still echoing inside his head but softer … fading.

Taking a deep, trembling breath, Jack settled enough to win the battle against his bedcovers and threw them back, earning a mumbled enquiry from Patricia.

"I'm fine," he whispered, keeping his voice too thin to tremble. "Go back to sleep." Swinging his legs out of bed, he sat on the side, eyes pressed tight against the flickering lights of a migraine aura. As sleep drew back, someone tossed a grenade into a shed of ammunition deep within his skull. Fireworks flared behind his eyelids, keeping time with the rapid thunder in his ears and the drum corps at his temples. Expending minimal thought, he reached for the bottle of analgesics next to the bed, pouring four into his hand. Bloody nightmares.

One of the caplets caught in his throat, wedging in sideways to tear and burn against his soft palate. Spitting the lukewarm water all down his front, he hacked, afraid to breathe in until the bastard popped loose, landing on the carpet between his feet. Pat sprang from their bed, hitting the floor with the startled grace only a parent can master, completely awake as she ran to his side. Holding her at bay with one hand, he snatched a handful of tissues from the box next to the pill bottle and mopped himself off.

When he managed to scrape some air down into his lungs, he wheezed. "I'm okay. Just forgot how to swallow." He smiled between coughing spells as she climbed up to kneel behind him, both hands rubbing his back.

"Nightmares again?" she asked, pressing a soft kiss against the nape of his neck.

He nodded. No point in denying it. He ground his teeth in his sleep when the nightmares took hold, no doubt to keep from shrieking and terrifying his family, and woke with fireworks going off inside his skull and behind his eyes.

"Every night, the same thing," she said. A soft sigh brushed his neck as she slipped her arms around him, her chin resting on his shoulder. "Seeing the Shepard with her parents made the future all too real, that baby could be … was our girls."

Jack leaned back into her embrace, hugging her arms to the damp cotton over his stomach. "I can't risk altering her life any more than I already have. The arsenals built into these colony ships could fight off the batarian attack. The slavers might end up being nothing more than a story about the day Mindoir triumphed."

She kissed the curve of his shoulder. "If you believed that, your conscience wouldn't be tormenting you."

Turning in her arms, Jack lifted a knee up onto the mattress, anchoring himself in her eyes. "It'll pass. Once we've made contact with the Citadel Council and Ambassador Goyle is in place, we can get back to Mars, and Lawson can make sure those batarian bastards don't get their hands on the Leviathan of Dis." He leaned in to kiss her, resting his brow against hers. "The nightmares will sort themselves out."

She kissed him long and slow, her lips tender but fervent. "Cerberus," she whispered against his lips, "humanity's guards at the gates to hell. I'm in awe of what you've done … how you've pulled so many people together, aiming so much self-interest in one direction." She wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked her chin under his. "One day, when the need for all this secrecy is over … they're going to truly understand how much you've done for the human race."

Jack pressed a soft kiss against her forehead. "Go back to bed. I'll follow in a minute."

When she laid down, he spread the covers over her then stood and crossed the room to the head. He wouldn't be able to sleep until the medication kicked in, and a cool shower sounded like just the thing to ease the pounding in the meantime.

In the shower, he braced his palms against the wall and let his head hang. The water sluiced over his head and pounded on his shoulders, easing the pain back enough that relief slipped between his lips on a sigh.

Shepard. Patricia had the right of it, blaming his nightmares on that tiny, cherubic face … the very image of his girls with that shock of red hair and green eyes. The past four days, he'd spent his idle time nursing fruitless, impossible plans to turn her into  _the_  Commander Shepard through alternate means. He could take her in, teach and train her … but of course, he couldn't trust that she'd harbour the same saviour complex without losing her entire world to slavers. Anything he did could turn all his plans on their ear.

"Mr. Harper?" Yakani's voice sliced through his battered skull, a chainsaw splattering grey matter and bone all over the shower stall. "The batarians have engaged our ships in the Bahak system."

The words registered through the migraine fog, bulldozing the pain off to one side to make room for alarm. The damned batarians had leaped ahead of his timetable. "Wake up Goyle, and make sure a shuttle's on the pad, ready to go."

Jack slapped the water control with the heel of his hand, and spun toward the towel rack. "I'll be down there in five." He dried and dressed in record time, then bent over Patricia, kissing her temple to wake her.

"Mmhmm?" she murmured, already far enough into sleep to have trouble surfacing.

"I'm going down the the comms room," he told her, snatching his jacket off the back of the chair. "I might have to leave for Bahak, but I'll call you before I go."

"Take your pills with you, just in case," she replied, pulling a smile through Jack's alarm. "I love you."

He kissed her again. "And I love you." Taking her advice to heart, he hurried around the bed to snatch up his pills. He strode for the door, his heart pounding hard enough to set his headache scratching at the inside of his skull, the monster trying to claw its way out.

The corridors stood empty, the crew, staff, and colonists still sleeping, the gamma shift at their stations. Only the whisper of the air recyclers and water walls played against the quick thump of leather soles against deck plating.

Yakani looked up as he stepped through the door, pulling her attention away from the the three-dimensional projection of Captain Donald Silva, the commander in charge of the Bahak system's security. "Sorry to disturb you, sir," Yakani said before turning her attention back to the call. 'I'll turn you over to Mr. Harper now, Captain."

The man saluted, earning a wry nod before Jack asked, "What's going on out there, Captain?" A quick survey of Silva's posture and expression eased Jack's concern. Nothing had gotten out of hand … yet.

"Six batarian ships appeared at the relay," Silva replied, his tone even and competent. Jack had poached him from the AoN defence force, needing a captain unafraid of getting his hands dirty to finish the job. "We thought they were just sent to probe our defenses, but then our scans discovered this." The image changed from the captain to the interior of a ship the size of a large cargo freighter, the interior comprised of a small CIC area, barracks, and then cells: thousands of cages.

"Slaving ship," Jack muttered under his breath. No one in the room needed to hear his assessment, they all knew what that ship meant for Aratoht. He leaned against the console, closing his eyes against the white-hot, brittle stars flashing across his vision.

"The fleet took a run at the  _Flying Dutchman_  to test its defenses, but backed off as soon as we moved in to cover it." The captain pressed a series of controls just out of sight. "They've retreated to the relay, but they show no signs of leaving." His eyes stared into Jack's across the millions of kilometres. "My guess is they'll move in casually, trying to appear friendly until they're in point blank range, and then attack to cripple the  _Dutchman_. We're recording everything they're doing, regardless."

Jack agreed, but before he could say so, Anita Goyle strode through the door, looking far too awake, made up, and prepared to do battle for 0300. He stepped back, ushering her into his place with an outstretched arm. "Your time has come, Ms. Goyle."

Focusing his attention back on the captain, Jack asked, "Did the science team get out of the system before the batarians arrived?"

"Yes, sir. They took the payload through the relay fourteen hours ago."

"Excellent." Jack nodded, the pieces dropping into the slots. "You know the plan. Let them destroy the  _Dutchman_  and get close enough to engage the colony's main guns, then detonate the package. Once the package is deployed, drive them off."

The captain saluted again. "Yes, sir. We'll get it done."

"I know you will." And he did. Jack didn't take chances at the best of times. Setting up the batarians needed deft hands that wouldn't baulk at the worst possible moment. Taking a place at the back corner of the room, he lowered the overhead lights and settled in for what he hoped would prove an Oscar-worthy performance.

"Batarian fleet, this is Ambassador Anita Goyle speaking for the people of Earth." She paused to allow the translation VI to repeat them in batarian. Starched straight and ironed, she clasped her hands behind her back. "We reach our hands out to you in the hope of building a strong friendship between our peoples."

The batarian fleet answered only by moving in, their shields active, their guns powered but not locked onto targets. Threads of pain weaving their way through Jack's jaw and temples alerted him to his clenched teeth. He forced them apart, the effort worthy of trying to pry apart a bear trap.

"Batarian fleet, please respond," Goyle continued. "The ships you are closing on are in the system on a mission of peace. They have civilians aboard, colonists for the site on Aratoht." She leaned into the console. "Batarian fleet, please respond."

Jack's omnitool beeped an incoming message. Despite knowing who it was, he opened it and skimmed the contents. He replied with, "Thirty minutes," and refocused his attention to the ongoing drama at the comms station.

"Batarians engaging," Captain Silva called. "Batarian fleet, this is the  _IPE Kestrel_ , lead escort for the colony vessel,  _Flying Dutchman_. We are in the system on a peaceful mission, escorting civilians to our colony on Aratoht." The translation program broadcast his words in batarian, and then the comms crackled.

"Aratoht." The single, growled word said everything. It was a batarian name for a batarian planet colonized in that other life when the Alliance decided it not worth the terraforming effort.

Jack hadn't thought about naming it, the name just belonging to the place like Eden Prime and Mindoir. He should have anticipated the batarians recognizing it as one of their words. Not that it mattered, a small mis-stroke in a much larger painting. He looked up to see Goyle staring at him and shrugged. It changed nothing. She needed to keep going.

She took a deep breath. "Our ships do not wish to engage your fleet. Do you understand me? As a direct representative of IPE and the humans in this system, I am authorized to negotiate with you. We have several developments in medical and communication to trade if you open talks rather than firing on our vessels."

A guttural sentence barked over the crackling link. In the moment before the translation program spat out the batarian response, Jack knew he didn't need to hear it. It amounted to the batarian equivalent of "shut up and die."

Goyle swallowed hard, her throat convulsing for a moment before she found her voice, but even then it came out thin, as if she just realized that every warning Jack gave about the batarians was true. "As I said, we do not want to engage your fleet, and we will not fire first, but neither will we allow your aggression to go unanswered." Another couple of gulps. "Do you understand me? Please respond."

Silence replied.

"Very well. Captain Silva, the escort is clear to fire if fired upon." Goyle drew herself up straight as Silva appeared back at the center of the holo projector. "Protect our civilians."

"Yes, ma'am." Silva saluted, then the holo changed to a tactical image of the two small fleets: the IPE ships moving closer to the planet with the batarians in pursuit.

Jack watched, the lines of light blurring and swimming, his pupils blown, his brain light sensitive. Of all the nights for a migraine to strike. He pressed his eyes closed as his vision narrowed, focusing on the voices coming through the comms. As he and Silva predicted, the batarian's opening shots crippled the  _Dutchman_  so it couldn't escape while they destroyed its escort. Jack couldn't blame them. So many families crammed into an easy container, it provided a temptation too great to resist.

He'd made sure of it.

The battle lasted minutes. The  _Dutchman_  went first, exploding in a burst of fire, snuffed out within seconds but for a tiny flame from the air recycler. As if that attack were the straw that broke the camel's back, the IPE ships retaliated, pulling the batarians close to the planet. Separating one from the herd, Silva artfully maneuvered it into position, destroying it upwind of the colony, exactly where Jack wanted.

The batarians swarmed one of the IPE ships, destroying it at the edge of Aratoht's atmosphere, a second drive core going up at the edge of the danger area for the colony. Jack pushed off the wall as the remaining IPE ships chased the batarians to the relay.

Schooling his expression to neutral, he stepped up beside Goyle. "Gather the teams, and send for a science team from Mars as well. There's going to be a great deal of fallout from those drive systems. We need to get help on the ground as soon as possible." He waved for her to follow him to the door. "This moves our Citadel contact timeline up; be ready to send the message through to the council in no more than three days. I'll see you aboard."

Goyle baulked, her face blanching beneath her makeup. "You want me to go to Aratoht?"

Jack palmed the door control, then turned to face her. "We both need to be seen there. This needs to be spun into a victory of humanity's technology over batarian aggression. We're going in to calm the colonists down, make sure they have plenty of food and medical aid if needed." In a move that startled him as much as it did her, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "IPE does not let its colonists down; humanity needs to believe in the colonization process enough that some setbacks will be tolerated."

Goyle glared at him for long seconds, then nodded. "I'll complete the council message on the way to the Bahak system."

"Good. Meet you on the shuttle." While she hurried down the corridor, Jack ducked back inside the comm room. "Everyone out," he called. "Go get a coffee."

The crew exited quietly, leaving him alone in the room. He locked the door and then activated the QEC hidden beneath the holo projector. Twenty-one men and women appeared around him, silently awaiting his news. While he could see all of them, none of them was aware of the others, nor could they hear what he said to anyone but them unless he allowed it. While group meetings saved time, secrecy and compartmentalization remained vital.

"The batarians made their move on the Bahak system," he said, rolling one of the chairs into the imager. He sat, legs crossed at the knee. "Ms. Goyle and Captain Silva played their roles well, and the mission went off as planned."

"Did my payload get out of the system before the batarians attacked?" the man standing at Jack's twelve demanded. He lunged forward a little, always one to try to seize control, but a couple of seconds under Jack's silent stare set him back, petulant but cautious. He straightened and cleared his throat. "Secrecy is imperative, Mr. Harper."

Jack let his head list to one side, disguising his agony as patient arrogance. "Yes, Henry, it was secured and left the system fourteen hours before the attack. It will be transferred onto a routine supply ship and then onto Horizon. Once it is underway, the shipping office will contact you." He stood, moving leisurely as he stepped up to stare Henry Lawson in the eye. "Quarantine protocol alpha is to be kept in place until the facility is completed. Do not break it."

Lawson clenched his teeth, his jaw bulging a couple of times before he nodded. "Understood."

"Excellent. We don't need a repeat of the Dis incident." With a wave of his hand, Jack dismissed Lawson even as the man's face darkened, embarrassment demanding that he respond with rage.

Unwilling to coddle the billionaire, even though he really couldn't afford to lose Lawson's backing, he pressed on. "Are you making progress on the personal shielding devices?"

"Slowly." The words sounded as though the billionaire ground them out between boulders. "We'll find a way. Until then we'll continue to shield the artefacts."

"And Miranda? How is she doing?" One of the conditions of Lawson joining Cerberus was Miranda being sent to Jack as soon as she completed her primary education and biotic training. Lawson had exposed her to eezo dust within her artificial womb, and so far, the measured exposure hadn't led to the manifestation of biotics, but neither had she developed any untoward side effects.

Lawson puffed up, his chest straining at his suit jacket. "She's a remarkable child, as expected. She's well ahead of children her age. Still no signs of biotics, but scans show the continued presence of element zero nodules throughout her nervous system. I'm encouraged."

"Excellent, thank you, Henry." Jack turned toward the man furthest on his right and took a deep breath. "Archer, is your medical clinic set up on Aratoht?"

The young scientist nodded, practically vibrating with excitement, his accented voice high and eager. "It is, and the lab will be completed within the week. The team just got the word from Ms. Goyle, and we'll be underway within the next three or four hours."

"Excellent. Keep me updated. As the first population exposed to unregulated doses of element zero, there are bound to be side effects. Do your best to mitigate them. We can't allow the batarians to destroy this colony."

"Yes, sir. We'll keep the people healthy in the face of this attack." Archer practically leapt through the connection.

Jack returned to his seat, knees crossed, hands folded, and opened all channels. "Is there anything else to report?"

A middle-aged woman stepped forward, greying hair tied back in a tight bun, her face pretty but hard, as if she'd been chiselled from stone. "The manufacturing facilities in the Chinese People's Federation are up and running. We've had excellent initial distribution numbers throughout Asia, and cutting the Red …."

Jack cleared his throat, looking up at her from beneath heavy eyelids. "Ms. Blake."

"Apologies." Blake swallowed and nodded. "... Pharmacological Specimen has decreased the … um … more destructive side effects. In addition, therapeutic applications are continuing to show a great deal of promise with paraplegics and patients with minor spinal cord/neurological injury."

"Excellent." Jack shook his head, and held up a hand as she started to speak. He didn't want to know any more. "That's all I need to know outside of your weekly reports, Ms. Blake."

Opening all the channels, he said, "I'm leaving for Aratoht in a few minutes. I entrust all of you to conduct your divisions with maximum autonomy and due diligence. None of this works unless IPE and Cerberus remain separate, and Cerberus maintains a generous, philanthropic public face." He stood. "We are not terrorists. We are not conquerors, drug lords, or mass murderers. We are preparing for a war that will destroy everyone if we fail."

He paced the length of their line and back. "Keep that in the foremost of your thoughts. Weekly reports are to be sent to my encrypted address on Mars, as usual." He paused to meet every set of eyes. "Prepare to become citizens of a much larger galaxy. Harper, out."

He stepped out of the imager and closed the QEC. T-minus seventy-two hours and counting. He needed to get boots on Aratoht.

* * *

**September 5, 2154 (The Charon Relay, Sol System)**

"Citadel Council, my name is Ambassador Anita Goyle. On behalf of Interplanetary Expeditions' First Contact Initiative, I extend to you the greetings of the human race. I contact you today as the voice of a multi-national assembly of governmental, industrial, cultural, and religious representatives from Earth, the third planet in the Sol system.

"Over a decade ago, we discovered ruins on the fourth planet in our solar system. The information we uncovered there has allowed us to realize astounding breakthroughs in medical, communication, and transportation technology. It also allowed us to create vessels able to move faster than the speed of light and that use artificial gravity.

"A few years later, we discovered ancient technology buried within ice at the edge of the system, a mass effect relay. It has enabled us to explore other systems, opening up a galaxy of wonders that seemed beyond our reach even a handful of years before.

"Recently, our colonial efforts brought us into contact with the Batarian Hegemony. Despite our overtures of peace and requests for diplomacy, they attacked and destroyed a colony ship carrying over a thousand civilians to our colony on Aratoht. While we were able to save our colony, conflict was not the way we wished to introduce ourselves beyond our home system. Instead, it is our hope to make peaceful contact with the rest of the galaxy.

"We are a young, vibrant culture eager to meet our brothers and sisters out amongst the stars and establish diplomatic, cultural, and trade relations."

Jack watched Goyle from the back of the comm room, the lights low to both hide him from sight and ease the pounding behind his left eye. She delivered her lines to perfection, holding the assembled delegates silent in their awe. Each body in that room understood that they stood witness to one of the most important moments in human history.

"And so," Goyle continued after taking a deep breath, "we wait at our relay … our window to the greater possibilities of being one species amidst many … and we ask your permission to traverse the relay and begin forging a new future as members of a wider family."

Silence fell. Breathless. Judging by the expression on every face he could see, Jack knew that everyone assembled there heard the same toll that rang in his ears … the knell of his heart, held in suspension between anticipation and dread.

"Message received, Representative Goyle." A feminine voice shattered the silence, the four word declaration punctuated by heavy exhalations of relief. "Your message has been forwarded to the council. Stand by."

Goyle took a long breath, a tentative smile trying to break through doubt's clouds. "Understood, thank you. Standing by."

The moment the channel closed, the room dissolved into heaved breaths and merry whispers, the mood shifting faster than the wind. Jack withdrew into his corner, the noise adding to the cacophony of light, whipping the pain in his head into a maelstrom.

"Here." A bottle of water appeared in front of his face, offered by a manicured hand. "You look like hell, Jack." Goyle grabbed one of the folding chairs and turned it around.

"Thank you." He took the bottle, but didn't open it. "For the water, not for saying I look like hell. There's such a thing as too much honesty, Goyle." He slid down into his chair.

"Yes, but if you board the Citadel looking like that, they're going to quarantine you to make sure you don't have plague." She chuckled when he cocked one eyebrow in response.

"It's just a headache. It'll be gone by the time they sort through everything they need to do before allowing us on the station." He leaned back, sliding down into the chair a little. "Move the delegates to forward observation and continue their briefing on what's expected from them when they're eventually invited aboard the Citadel."

The past three days, Goyle had been teaching the delegates about the council races: what they looked like, what they considered rude or insulting … basically a crash course on how to avoid starting a galactic incident. Jack completely expected several boarding parties to precede any invitation to disembark onto the Citadel. Surely they'd be subjected to medical, weapons, and a myriad of other scans before the council took a risk on the cheeky newcomers.

He pressed the cold bottle against his forehead and nodded toward the exit. "It'll take them a while to get back to us. Go ahead, you can make your replies from there."

Goyle's hand touched his shoulder before he heard the sharp click of her heels crossing the room, then silence. Blessed silence.

"VI, lower the comm room lighting to ten percent," he said, sliding down until his head rested on the back of his chair. He should go back to his quarters, lie down and monitor from there, but damn it, he didn't want to move. Judging by the pain level, his head falling off and rolling across the CIC couldn't be ruled out.

Three hours and sixteen minutes later—he only knew the interval thanks to watching the time tick down until he could take more meds—the comm channel opened, startling Jack from a solid doze.

"Citadel control to Anita Goyle, designated representative of the human race. The Citadel Council have agreed to grant you an audience providing you declare the number and class of vessels entering Citadel space along with schematics of these vessels. Once you are cleared to traverse the relay, you will be required to hold position five thousand kilometres from the relay until your vessels can be boarded and scanned."

No surprises there, and he expected the council to be impressed, but not threatened by the ship designs. Jack pushed himself up in his chair as Goyle's voice broke through, one hundred percent starched professionalism. "Understood. Transmitting requested data now."

Standing, Jack took a minute to get his feet under him before heading toward his cabin. His longtime, family doctor had flown in from Mars, trying to get to the bottom of the sudden, debilitating migraines. He'd suffered headaches for years, all attributed to stress. Lately, they'd become as vicious as their onset was sudden, turning even simple things, like breathing, into torture.

"Jack?" Patricia called as he walked through the door. "You're back already?" She stepped out of their bedroom door. "We heard everything. Anita did a wonderful—" She looked up, her mouth snapping shut. After a swallow that he saw from the door, her expression morphed from excited and happy to concern's heavy brow and tight lips. She climbed the stairs to the office space and held out her hand. "Come on."

When he placed his hand in hers, she led him down to the bedroom, her other hand already at her radio. "Dr. Jarvis? Yes, it's Pat. Jack's having one of his headaches, and it's a bad one." She sat Jack on the side of the bed. "Excellent, thank you. The door's unlocked, so just let yourself in." She knelt to remove his shoes, swatting his hands away when he tried to stop her.

"The council is going to be contacting us any minute," he protested, but weakly. He let her push him back onto the bed, propping him up on pillows. Dear lord, it felt good to be mostly horizontal. His wife certainly knew best.

"Don't move," Patricia warned, without needing to; not a single cell in his body wanted to move ever again. She hurried out of the room, returning a few moments later. "Lean up." She lifted his head, settling a soft, cold mass in the curve of his neck. "Now, just lie back and relax. Anita can deal with all the handshaking and contagion scanning." She laid another ice pack over his eyes and brow, then walked around the bed to sit next him, his hand in hers.

"These headaches are scaring me, love. This is the fourth one in just over a week," she whispered, cool fingertips caressing the back of his hand. "I think we need to look deeper than emotional and stress issues."

He couldn't argue, not with his brain crawling out through his eyes.

* * *

After a long nap, Jack woke blessedly free of pain. He sat up, taking a second to chuckle at his Patricia's caretaking: She'd changed him into pyjamas. Glancing over at the chrono, he winced. Five hours. The doctor must have given him a shot. Well, at least his brain only felt two sizes too big rather than five.

Hearing his family moving around quietly, whispering to keep from waking him, Jack got up and dressed. He needed to be ready to go once the council called for them. He smoothed the heavy woven raw silk of his shirt, tucking it neatly into his trousers, making sure the tails laid invisibly. He chose a dark green—almost black—pinstriped suit, the jacket all long lines and spare cut.

Stepping out into the sitting area, he saw Dr. Jarvis, his family physician, pacing the width of their living room, the embodiment of anxiety and dread in a white, poly-cotton coat. "He's never going to agree to—"

"Jack." Patricia stood, hurrying over from the couch. "Did you sleep well? How's your head?"

Capturing her hands in his, he kissed her brow. "I feel much better. Thank you for taking such good care of me." He nodded to the doctor. "Both of you."

Patricia let out a long, noisy breath. "Come and sit down, love." She led him toward the couch. "We've got something to tell you."

The air in the room settles on his shoulders, weighing him down, and his head gives a warning twinge of two as he sits, perched on the edge of the cushion. "About my headaches?" Naturally. A moment after he asked the question, he felt like an idiot for wasting his breath and valuable time.

"Yes, scans revealed … " The doctor paced a couple more laps. "... well, they revealed a problem."

Jack chuckled, the sound hard and sharpened to a diamond edge. "Doctor … Ron … I have twenty minutes to meet Anita and the first contact party at the airlock. I don't have time to hand hold you through whatever this is about. Just tell me. What's wrong?"

The doctor stopped suddenly and spun to sit in one of the chairs. "When the salarian scientific team came through, they scanned you in your sleep, afraid you might be contagious." He activated his datapad and passed it to Jack. "They discovered tumours, Jack." He swallowed, the sound deafening as Jack stared at the scan of his head. "They're spreading at an incredible rate."

Jack took a long breath and closed his eyes, trying to calm the pressure building in his chest and head, the fierce pulse throbbing in his throat. "How do we treat them?" Despite his tight control, the words came out far more breathy and thin than he would have liked.

Jarvis sat in the armchair, leaning forward, forearms on his knees. "Jack, I'm afraid we're going to have to remove your eyes and optic nerves."

(A-N: Three weeks in a row. I think the universe might be coming to an end. Thank you so much for your kind comments. The support means a lot. We're so close now. Commander Dumpling on the horizon. :D *hugs and soft kittens*)


	18. Chapter Eighteen -- Seen and Unforeseen aka Dammit Wrex 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I changed too much," Wrex whispered, gripping her hand. "Contact Prilla. We need every ship the CDEM can spare, and any that she can beg, borrow, coerce, or threaten into service." He spun, running to the door, pausing at the threshold to call back. "Then get your hinah and pack. Meet me at the transports."

**Seen and Unforeseen aka Dammit, Wrex 2**

**Gikgah**  - (krogan) Ancient, ziggurat-like temple structures.

 **Rahat** \- (krogan) Shit, feces, excrement.

 **Hinah** \- (asari) Mother (Bearing parent)

 **Makah** \- (asari) Father (Non-bearing parent)

 **Kaika**  - (asari) Daughter

 **Nitti** \- (asari) Affectionate nickname for offspring

 **Qadin** \- (krogan)(pronounced kah-dihn) Female after undergoing the rite of passage (female version)

 **Qisan**  - (krogan) (pronounced kee-sahn) Male after undergoing the rite of passage

 **Birinc Qan** : (krogan) The ritual battles that take place in huge, amphitheatre-like arenas. The intention is to keep krogan in touch with their warrior nature while functioning within a civilized, peaceful galaxy.

 **Torin**  - Torini plural. Male turian of the age of majority (15)

 **Tarin**  - Tarini plural. Female turian of the age of majority (15)

 **Fratrin** \- (turian) Brother of oath and honour rather than of blood.

* * *

**1972 CE Tuchanka, Gikgah of Niraxahk (76 cycles after the quarian evacuation to Haratar. 5 cycles after commencement of building the drell habitat on Tuchanka.)**

Wrex raced into the communications center at the apex of the  _gikgah_ , breath burning as it roared in and out of his lungs. Whoever called for him needed a hell of a good emergency in order to keep their head. And everyone in the room appeared too damned calm for any real crisis.

They needed to build a comms control center at the base of the ancestor-cursed pyramid.

"Been too long since you ran those stairs?" Raxi teased from her station on the antenna array.

He should have known. "An emergency?" He coughed into the back of his hand, unable to stay angry at his impossible pup. Still, he narrowed his eyes at her, curling one corner of his mouth into a snarl that just made her chuckle. "Don't laugh, there'll be an emergency when all four of my hearts seize."

Raxi grinned. "All hail the chief of the melodramatic people." A quick, sharp wave beckoned him over to her side, the edges in her stare confirming the urgency despite her outward cheer. "Come look at this,  _Makah_. I've never seen anything like it."

Wrex crossed the room, his head and lungs still floundering for oxygen, his muscles burning. Standing behind her chair, he looked down at the screen, recognition hitting him both immediately and as hard as a charging varren. The geth.

"It's for me." He touched the receive button and leaned closer, resting on the back of Raxi's chair as he squinted at the small, glowing script.

"You're getting old," Raxi said, her voice incredulous. "Look at you squinting." She cocked her head and elbowed him. "Do krogan wear glasses? Giant eye-lenses?"

Wrex reread the message, his blood slowing and freezing in his veins, his muscles slick and fragile as glass. How could he have been so stupid? He reached up, raking his fingers down the side of his face, mind racing. He'd never get there in time.

" _Makah?_ " All the humour bled from her face, her brow and cheekbones blanching almost white. "What's wrong?" She spun her chair around and pressed a hand against his cheek. "What's going on?"

"I changed too much," he whispered, gripping her hand. "Contact Prilla. We need every ship the CDEM can spare, and any that she can beg, borrow, coerce, or threaten into service." He spun, running to the door, pausing at the threshold to call back. "Then get your  _hinah_  and pack. Meet me at the transports."

At least running back down the  _gikgah_  didn't wind him the way running up had, leaving him enough air to call over to the drell compound, telling them to get their transports emptied and ready to hit space. Amazing too, the speed and energy panic provided—a fist taking hold of his trachea and dragging him forward—knowing that the unseen sped up on him. Worse, he wouldn't be the one taken down by this predator. He changed too much, saved too many.

Samara ran up to him as his feet touched the courtyard stones, hers sliding on the sandy tiles. She grabbed his arm, pulling against his charge. "What is it, Wrex?"

"The collectors ..." He slowed to a quick march, beckoning for her to keep up with him. "I changed too much. I saved too many." He winced at the confusion in her eyes. Damn, he should have confessed everything to her long ago. Instead, he said, "The collectors are going after the quarians at Haratar." He stopped and spun to face her, gripping her shoulders. Her blue eyes radiated worry and … fear …. Ancestors, he wasn't used to seeing fear in his justicar's gaze.

Slowing himself down, he took a deep, scalding breath. "The geth contacted me. They intercepted communications relayed from the galactic core. The collectors are planning to destroy the quarians." He launched himself back into a sprint, terror and helplessness setting fire to the kindling beneath his rage. It flared, pouring strength into his limbs. "They're all crammed onto that station. I might as well have let the geth slaughter them."

Three days. It would take their ships more than three days to get to the Sea of Storms. The geth could get there a lot faster, but he knew the quarians would never trust them. He reached the spaceport before he stopped running, rage burning hotter and longer than any other fuel.

"Get these transports unloaded as fast as you can," he hollered over the docking area PA system. "We need every possible ship for an emergency evacuation." He looked over at the trading mall. Three volus and two asari traders watched over the krogan tending the stalls. "You five, I'll pay you three times your profits if you'll lend your ships for eight or nine days."

All five sprang up from their tables in the outdoor bar. Avarice. The universe could always count on greed. If he didn't find it so damned useful, it would turn his stomachs.

Barl appeared at Wrex's elbow as the clan chief climbed the ramp into the first transport along the now lengthy line of ships. "What's sinking its claws into your quad?"

"Remember all those quarians we saved? The collectors need to keep us weak, so they're going to destroy Haratar." He paused at Barl's confusion and turned to clap his hand down on his second's shoulder. "Just get these transports ready to fly. We leave as soon as they're ready. And load the extra decks. We're going to need them. We can install them in space."

Wrex continued on as Barl hurried off to do as he'd been ordered, shouting orders before his feet hit the tarmac. The growl of heavy equipment rumbling to life disappeared as he stepped through the door leading from the main cargo hold. When Wrex reached the cockpit, he sat down at the comms station and opened a channel to Haratar, praying he wasn't already too late.

"Clan Chief Urdnot?" a hesitant voice spoke at the other end. "What can the quarians do for you?" The way the quarian asked, it sounded as though he expected that some debt had come due.

"Haratar Station is going to be attacked by the collectors. Have you heard of them?" He braced his head in his hand, elbow digging into the console.

"The collectors are legends, Clan Chief. There is no such race." The male on the other end chuckled, poisoning the connection with its bitterness. "If this is a prank, it is in poor taste."

"I'm Clan Chief of Urdnot, and I don't play pranks." Although Vakarian might argue that point. He shoved the turian back into the past. "Your people need to prepare for evacuation. We're bringing transports to move as many of you as we can. Prepare the children and young people first. They need one change of clothing, a blanket, and a pack of food and water. Anything else will be left behind."

"Is it the geth?" Reacting, no doubt, to the growing anger in Wrex's voice, the man's voice trembled, and another, stronger one in the background called out. "We have early warning buoys at the relay, so we'll know when something's coming, Urdnot Wrex. We can take care of ourselves."

"It's not the geth. The collectors are coming at you with advanced ships that will carve your vessels into slag and reduce that station into a debris field." He lifted his finger to hover over the disconnect button. "We'll be there in about eighty hours. Get the youngsters ready to go. Load up your ships. We'll contact you on the way." He hung up before the fool started asking questions Wrex couldn't guess the answers to.

Damn it, why had he dismissed the collectors? Why had he assumed that regardless of the changes he made, the big villains would maintain their course? What if they didn't intend to destroy the quarians, but capture them, melting them down into paste to make a quarian reaper? The quarian numbers stood at about nine million, changing little over the cycles due to strict population control. Could the collectors make a reaper out of that few?

He messaged the Sat Control Station to open a channel so he could reply to the geth. Once they had every ship around stuffed full of quarians … what did they do with them? The drell compound could take some for a short time, feeding the dextro quarians from imports, but it proved a short term solution. Tuchanka would take a century of reclamation to be able to keep millions of quarians alive … if dextro crops would grow there.

"Urdnot Wrex, Clan Chief." The geth voice broke through Wrex's simmering thoughts, the words coming through in krogan.

"Do you know how long we have before the collectors attack Haratar?" He didn't remember a great deal from his earlier contact with the geth, except that the more simple and direct he kept things, the more productive the conversation.

"Communication intercepted. Collectors recalling vessels to Omega IV relay. Current time to arrival of all collector ships at Omega IV relay, ninety-two hours."

Wrex let out a short breath. They might be able to get one load out. "Why are they recalling their ships rather than rallying in Sea of Storms?"

"Supply and personnel."

"You need to move ships to the relay so that when the quarian alarm buoys trigger, you can move in to protect them."

"Quarians will not accept assistance from geth." The tone varied little, not enough for Wrex to guess at the geth's intentions.

"They might accept help when the geth are blowing up the collectors and the quarians ships can get out of the system." He blew out a long breath, a steady hammering starting inside his skull, pounding to a beat he hadn't heard in hundreds of cycles. Why had he sent Mellir off to the Citadel? He needed a diplomat, and he was no diplomat. Anyway ….

"Where do we take the quarians if we save them?" Wrex leaned back in the chair, one hand reaching up to rub his face. "Tuchanka can't support them, and none of the others races will." He hated that truth. Because of the geth, the council idiots had turned the quarians into galactic pariahs.

"Stand by. The geth will contact you when they reach consensus." The channel went dead.

"Damned geth." Wrex spun the chair around and stared out the front ports at the expanse of cultivated fields around the  _gikgah_ … the massive turrets dotting the perimeter. Maws and klixen didn't come near the settlement any more, but the defenses remained in place.

And what if the collectors came after the krogan? What if Sovereign did? Wrex reached up to rub the muscles knotting between his neck and shoulders. Damn all the thinking. Why did he stay home and take over Urdnot? The safer option had been to live his life the same way as before.

And yet, he hadn't even considered it. Why? The moment he arrived, he locked himself into starting the krogan rebuilding early … into preparing his people to be a force in the coming war. And it hadn't even occurred to him that it might draw the reapers' attention. He worried about the other clans—there remained holdouts, but there always would be, they were krogan—and he worried about the council, but never the reapers.

He was an old fool.

Krogan numbers didn't come close to pre-genophage, but as the centuries passed, more youngsters stayed on Tuchanka, fewer got themselves killed out being mercs, and suicides had dropped to almost nothing, particularly among the females. He smiled and let out a short puff of a sigh: Thank you, Urdnot Bakara.

Putting so many drell on the planet also upped the threat the krogan posed to the reapers. Thanks to the hanar finding them on the cusp of extinction, only a few hundred thousand drell survived in the previous timeline. Now nearly a million lived on Tuchanka alone, another eight billion on Rakhana. With their first contacts being the krogan and asari, the drell weren't limited by the compact, and at least on Tuchanka, most trained eagerly to become warriors. Living on a hostile planet, they wanted to settle competently rather than relying on the krogan for protection. Wrex respected them for that. And with their natural athleticism, they turned out excellent warriors.

Standing, he paced across the generous space, then back. Defense cannons built during the rebellions still dotted Tuchanka's surface. Most of the installations survived the war, but had fallen out of repair. They packed one hell of a punch, and if he could figure out how to front load missiles with thresher acid, not even collector shields would hold against them.

He turned on his heel and hurried down to help load the ships. He'd talk to Prilla about the best way to get those defense cannons repaired and working. Anything the krogan did to arm themselves would send the council into spasms, but time drew short and the enemy was moving. At least with Mellir and her staff on the Citadel, they'd managed to maintain a dialogue with the council and the embassies of the other races.

Mellir … as much credit as he gave Bakara for saving the krogan, Mellir deserved just as much. She'd taken to her position as council liaison as if born to it, and perhaps she had been. She'd taken over almost all his political load, a fact for which she deserved a statue erected in her honour. She also oversaw the logistics of getting both of Tuchanka's major construction projects up and running. And thanks to her public relations team, the university had a small staff of professors that included turian and asari combat specialists and salarian infiltrators amidst the battlemasters.

Yes, the krogan posed a threat the collectors and reapers wouldn't long ignore. They might not be able to wait for the humans and Shepard. They might just have to wage war on their own.

* * *

**1971 CE Haratar Station (80 hours later)**

After three days of agonizing waiting, Wrex burst through the station's hatch, gun ready, every instinct primed to the point his impatience buzzed inside his head. He ran down the docking tube, bursting through it as well ... to … silence. Absolute, mind-numbing silence. He sniffed the stale air confirming the lack of hum from air recyclers. Another deep breath filled his head with stink … so many kinds that he couldn't separate them other than recognizing the absence of decay.

He took another breath, that one through his mouth, then opened a channel to his small fleet. "Wrex to  _Maw's Bane_ , are you reading anything?"

"There's still something jamming the sensors," Barl replied, his voice tight and angry. He disliked being left behind for a few reasons: fear for Wrex's safety was one, but mostly he hated being kept out of the action, the quintessential krogan.

Prilla stepped up on Wrex's right side and touched his arm. "Let's keep moving." He could smell the taut energy coming off of the CDEM commander. "Something's really wrong here."

Wrex grunted and nodded. He felt it. The yawning emptiness. The docking bays should have been filled with children waiting to get on the ships. Hell, even if the quarians didn't believe him, there should be a welcome party.

Leading the way down the length of the ramp, he paused at the door control, rage and impatience boiling under his plates as he waited for the others to get in position. He nodded for Prilla to be first through the door, then palmed the control.

The door hissed open, but other than the sour excrement and ammonia stink of fear deepening, nothing moved.

"Spirits!" Prilla's gasp of surprised dismay sent Wrex's gut sloshing down into his boots.

The clan chief swung around the door frame, coming face to face with … bags and boxes, crates and toys and … not a single quarian. No crying children clutched to parents' breasts, no hands smoothing hair or kisses pressed to cheeks. No whispered words or songs of comfort.

Just the room, looming over them, and the strewn belongings of hundreds of quarians left where they dropped.

"They got here first." Wrex stepped into the room, jumping at a sharp, electronic animal sound. He looked down, a clawed fist punching through his plates to wrap around his hearts, strangling them. Moving his foot, he nudged a stuffed animal, the thing letting out another squawk. His hearts let out a few hard thumps before settling back into rhythm.

"How?" Prilla and Raxi followed him as he continued down the room. The commander bent down and picked up a doll, smoothing the long black hair away from the soft violet face. "There's no sign of a struggle."

"I am an old fool. I caused this." A hand grabbed his arm, Raxi, no doubt, but he pulled free. He didn't deserve comfort. "They're gone because I …." He staggered forward a few steps, his muscles and tendons all spun glass and daggers. The empty room howled in its silence, a lone varren in the hollow wastes.

All gone. Every quarian on the station held paralyzed, helpless and shoved into those damned pods. All because he didn't think of the consequences. All because he thought he'd finished his work when he rescued them … that the council would get off their asses and find the quarians a place to live.

At least exiled to their fleet, wandering, they maintained a civilization. Frustration and rage began to boil behind the fist choking off his blood supply, the claws sinking in, the pressure building until it exploded into a roar of helpless fury. Now, because of him the quarian race was extinct.

He roared until he collapsed forward, hands braced on his knees, lungs heaving and eyes watering.

" _Makah_ , no." Raxi threw her arms around him, lifting him straight so her watery blue stare met his crimson one. "No. Stop it! You aren't responsible for every death in the galaxy." She glanced toward Prilla, then returned. "You're not responsible."

"It's too early to call them dead," Prilla stated, her matter-of-fact tone helping ease the tight grip in Wrex's chest. She was right. They'd searched two rooms out of hundreds. The quarians were quick and tech savvy. They might have found a way to keep the swarms away from their people.

He straightened, throwing his shoulders back so hard the joints and his plates cracked. Some might have escaped on their ships as well. He reached out to pull Raxi in against his side with one arm while opening a comms channel with the other. "Barl, contact the geth. Ask them if the quarians managed to escape in their ships. They must have intercepted some communications."

They picked their way across the room, making sure not to disturb the detritus on the floor, as if the leftovers of the quarians' lives constituted holy relics. He remembered sitting up with Shepard the night after the clone affair as she sorted through all the belongings her clone had thrown away. She'd been so emotional over it … so indignant. As a merc he never understood why she got upset over a few books and models. Now he understood.

When people are gone, all they are is what they leave behind. He glanced back, love and awe breaking through the horror for a few breaths as he watched his family … his people … make their way across the room. As a merc, he never understood. He left nothing behind when he joined Shepard. He left a little more when he carried her to the Crucible, but still nothing a few well-placed shots couldn't undo.

This time … despite the empty rooms around them … this time he'd leave so much behind. Urdnot Wrex would leave a legacy … and he would not allow it to be this empty station. Nor would he allow it to be Rakhana, the planet a barren graveyard strewn with drell. He didn't care if he had to chase those collector bastards all the way to the galactic core.

If the quarians had been taken by the collectors, these toys and blankets became precious artifacts. And he'd gather up every single one, load them onto the ships that should have been carrying survivors, and pile them into the gap between the council and the supplicant's platform.

He carried on, and once he gave the all clear, the other ships sent teams aboard, even the merchants and their crews volunteering to search. He accepted, gratefully, the station far too huge for any locked away quarians to live for long without air cycling. In the end, six teams worked their way through the station, covering the massive area.

He spun. "Raxi, Prilla … find the environmental systems. Get the air recyclers on and see if there is any part of the station where the temperature is exactly quarian body temperature."

His  _kaika_  nodded, her face drawn, her cheeks streaked with tears. "We'll scan the station too, see if there are any areas the scanners miss. Maybe the quarians set up a null field around somewhere." His warrior patted Prilla's back, then the two friends took off, their omnitools glowing.

The station became a long series of empty spaces, but the further away from the docking area they got, the more shallow the sea of artifacts became, eventually giving away to bare deck plating. The spaces became neat and organized, homes and work areas simply abandoned, awaiting their people's return. Wrex stopped in the middle of a market, the stalls still stocked, and turned a slow circle as his team spread out, searching every corner.

Haratar felt haunted, the station mourning, and once again, despair muscled his anger aside.

Sometimes, when things got bad in the hunt against Saren, Wrex would hear Shepard whispering under her breath, making bargains with God. He considered that faith one of her few weaknesses, but standing there, the station feeling as though it breathed around him, he understood. He chuffed. It seemed to be Urdnot Wrex's big day of understanding the sentimental.

But …  _rahat_  … if some god watched over them from out there, he'd be willing to make any bargains he needed to. He knew he couldn't chase the collectors. Shepard barely survived it in the  _Normandy_ , with Joker at the helm and a reaper IFF installed. Any attempt would end in even more death. So, yeah, if he needed to bargain with a god, he was open to terms.

"Wrex." Prilla's voice hammered a hole through his thoughts, and he cursed his two  _naisa_  for turning him into someone who stood around lost in thought. If Samara got him meditating, he'd have to officially change his species.

"Yeah? What?" Better. Straight, gruff, to the point.

"A huge section of station registers as not there on the scans. It's directly at the core. Judging by the facilities around it … it might have been a server room or even the computer core." She paused, and he heard Raxi in the background. "The air recy—" The station interrupted her, the air ducts banging and rattling, all the automatic air seals opening before the first cool breeze blew through, dust coughing through all the vents.

"Air is on, copy that." He strode for the door, one massive arm sweeping out to collect his team. "We've got a solid lead." A second later, his omnitool pinged with location data. He swallowed the tiny flame trying to catch fire in his chest … damn thing. He refused to hope until he saw survivors. "One of you get into the station's cameras and logs. Download everything. We'll need evidence it wasn't the geth."

They wove their way down through the decks, the station—once keening—holding its breath as they passed. Wrex allowed anger to burn through all his previous sentimentality; it had no place on a mission. Rage kept his mind clear, his reflexes keen, his muscles taut and expectant.

Prilla and Raxi met them just as they stepped off the latest set of ramps onto the station's center deck. The  _tarin_  offered him a brusque nod, then nodded toward a corridor on the left. "It's just down here. It's a large space." Her tone carried all of the hope none of them dared express as they fell in behind her.

The null space began at a doorway just off a long server room, confirming the guess that it held the base's computer core. Smart move, hiding any survivors in there. With the main core hidden as well, the collectors couldn't use it to override other safety precautions.

Wrex stayed back as Prilla and Raxi worked their way around the proximal null field generators, the section of shelving welded in place over the door, then the well and truly destroyed lock. The longer it took and the more barriers they had to break through, the better Wrex felt about the situation. In fact, by the time he stabbed a chunk of metal girder into the space to pry the door open, he would have been surprised if they didn't find anyone inside.

Thankfully, the quarians didn't surprise him, the space filled with children, all of them blinking in the bright beams of the team's flashlights. While some sniffled as Wrex edged past them, trying to get an idea of their number, they'd clearly cried themselves into exhaustion. They'd need food and sleep … wherever they took them.

And bathing. Wrex merely winced at the stink while many of the others took measures to counter it, pieces of cloth or helmets blocking it out.

When he picked his way through to the center of the huge space, Wrex climbed up on top of a crate and looked around. "Is there someone in charge?" When that didn't get any response, he tried a different tack. "Who's the oldest? Anyone who's done their pilgrimage(1)?"

No response.

Okay, very different tack. He reached down a hand for Raxi's, hauling her up beside him when she took it. "This is Raxira. She's in charge." He hopped down, nearly crushing a young female, the pale mauve face blanching nearly white as she dove aside. "Sorry about that, kid." He returned to the door, carefully tiptoeing around the tightly packed bodies. Not an easy task.

When he broke loose of the tangle, he let out a relieved sigh. "There are thousands of them in there."

Prilla shuddered, her elegant mandibles flailing a little. "Tens of thousands, and not an adult in the bunch."

Wrex rumbled, pride tinting his words. "The adults all fought to protect their young." The next breath, he blew out a heavy growl-sigh combination as he looked up through the ten floors of the station's computer core. "What do we do with thousands of pups? Dextro pups at that."

"Palaven?" Prilla shook her head the second after she suggested it. "No, they'd never take in so many quarian orphans." Her mandibles flicked a couple of times, a soft rumble of subvocals brushing the underside of a sigh. "The Citadel is out, too. They'd all end up as duct rats."

Shaking off the momentary helplessness, Wrex shrugged. "One step at a time, Commander." He gestured back the way they'd come. "The market still had food out. Get a crew together to load it onto the ships. The pups will be hungry and thirsty." The charge over, Wrex looked around. His people comforted the youngsters, getting them up and organized. A few seemed to be changing filthy underclothing and washing the worst of the stink off of them.

He'd changed more than enough butt napkins in his time to feel perfectly fine about leaving that to other hands. Instead, he reached up to his comms. " _Maw's Bane,_  Barl, come in. Have we heard anything from the geth?"

"Nothing direct, but a communication came in for you from CDEM Station Three. It was a strange message, Wrex. Babbled on about incoherent repeating signals."

"Patch me through." Wrex shook his head. He glanced over at Prilla, one corner of his mouth curled into a teasing sneer. "New recruits in the comm station?"

"Oh, blessed spirits." She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, first week in. What is it? Do they keep hanging up on you?" Striding over, neck arched, mandibles spread and dropped, she braced for battle.

He waved her off. "Unidentified transmission. I've got it."

The channel connected. "Clan Chief?" The voice on the comms came through weak and thready. "This is Comm Specialist Lt. Rannus on CDEM station Three. We're so sorry, sir, but a message came through twelve hours ago. A green junior officer was manning incoming transmissions and dismissed it due to being unfamiliar with geth comm protocols."

Wrex coughed, choking down the urge to climb through the relays and strangle the young turian. "Enough, give me the message." He walked off a few metres just in case he needed to start yelling. He didn't want to scare the quarians.

"It's from the geth, sir. They report that two of the collector ships did not rally with the others, but proceeded directly to Sea of Storms. The proximity alarms went off at the local relay. The geth had positioned a fleet as you requested and moved in to cover the quarian retreat. They held the collector ships at bay, losing several of their own, but twenty-seven quarian ships were able to get through the relay." The young  _tarin_  sucked in a quick breath. "The communication concludes with the geth saying they escorted the ships—entirely children and adolescents—home."

Wrex looked over the crush of weeping children, hearing his other search parties converging on their location, boots heavy on the deck plating. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

He closed the channel then turned to grin at Raxi and Prilla, the former carrying two tiny pups, one in each arm. "Twenty-seven ships full of these little whelps are headed for Rannoch."

"The quarian ships escaped," he explained in answer to Raxi's perplexed, raised brows. "The geth got them through the relay and took them to Rannoch." He nodded when she grinned, then tipped his head toward the computer core. "Get them loaded up. They're headed home."

* * *

**1971 CE Rannoch, Site of the quarian evacuation camp. (3 Days later)**

Wrex looked up through the narrow space into the quarian ship's computer core. Damn the quarians for their skinny, flexible frames. How was a krogan supposed to breathe crushed between bulkheads and backup servers?

"Raxi, do you have the camera footage?" he hollered up through the restrictive ladder tunnel.

"Stop tying your plates into a twist." His  _kaika's_  face appeared at the top of the ladder. "Who would have guessed the big, bad Urdnot Wrex has claustrophobia issues?" His growl just prompted a wider grin and a merry chuckle.

Raxi shook her head without losing the grin. "Oh, fine, you big grump. I've been able to access the data from all the quarian ships. Luckily, this stuff is automatic." She vanished. "Combined with the onboard data from the geth ships and Haratar, there's no way the council are going to be able to deny this." She held a bag over the drop. "Catch."

"You'd be amazed at what the council can deny." He caught the bag and slung it over his shoulder so he could squeeze back out of the space. They'd looked at clear evidence of the collectors and reapers and called Shepard a liar for cycles. "If it's not in the council's best interest or it scares them, they'll deny the sun rising in the morning."

Raxi slid down the ladder, landing with a springy thump and bounded after him. "Well, the geth are analyzing the collector weapons so they can protect Rannoch, and Saela is busy on Rahkana. We'll get ready even if they don't." She slung her arm around him. "We're krogan. We'll get it done."

Chuckling, he pulled her in against his side and nuzzled the top of her head. He couldn't wait for her to meet Shepard. He whistled through his teeth. The two of them were going to be a complete disaster. The galaxy didn't stand a chance.

She elbowed him, then nodded toward the open ramp on the docked ship. "We have company."

Three geth platforms waited at the bottom of the ramp, their face plates moving slowly … what Wrex had come to think of as relaxed … if a machine could be called relaxed. "Urdnot Wrex," the center one said, taking a step toward him. "You are preparing to return to Tuchanka?"

"Yes." Wrex set the bag down between his feet. "We've got the camera and sensor data from your battle with the collectors and their attack on Haratar. We'll present it to the council."

"Your asari contact, Matriarch Saela S'aris, has messaged the geth, offering the services of the asari in caring for the creator young. In addition, several krogan females have made similar overtures." The head flaps on all three stretched out to maximum before fluttering back, three fingered hands wringing. "We do not understand. Do organics not fear the geth?"

Wrex shook his head. "Not all of them." He picked up the bag and held out a hand to usher them toward the krogan ships. "Taking all these pups in will help. Getting the truth about the war out there wouldn't hurt, either."

"People fear what they don't know," Raxi added, turning around to walk backwards. "If they get to know the geth … when they see that the geth were willing to take losses to save the quarian children … they won't be as afraid. If you come out of your corner and engage the rest of the galaxy, trade and participate … it will take time, but maybe you could change people's minds about AI in general."

Their head flaps sped up for a second, tugging the corner of Wrex's mouth into a crooked grin: they'd definitely been created by the highly emotive quarians. "The geth believe the repatriation of the quarian youth present an opportunity to commence diplomatic relations with the other species." The geth stopped as a single unit. "Do you believe it prudent, Urdnot Wrex?"

Wrex shook his head. He couldn't make this decision, not after being slapped in the head with eight million dead quarians, all killed because he didn't foresee the consequences of his actions. No … this time, he needed multiple perspectives. He couldn't decide the fate of so many different races.

"If the geth want to send some platforms back to Tuchanka with my fleet, it's no shell chipped off my hump." Wrex shrugged of the discomfort of their stares. Why did they have to stare at him with all that animation he could only read as hope? If he brought the geth into the galaxy as citizens … what would the reapers counter with? What if Sovereign attacked two centuries too early?

Raxi plowed ahead. "We could invite the council, the volus and elcor … everyone." She spun to face Wrex, latching both hands onto his arm. "Show the council that we're damned diplomats and a diplomatic body that they're going to have to recognize whether they want to or not. We could get the geth teaching at the university. Maybe even get a film crew to go to Rannoch with the next shipment of people and supplies."

"Whoa! Slow down there, crazy pup." Wrex clapped a hand down on her shoulder. Where had this impossible, beautiful  _nais_  come from? "Don't jump ahead. We'll take a few geth envoys to Tuchanka and talk to Saela." He let out a melodramatic breath and uttered words he never thought he'd hear himself say. "There are consequences to changing the balance of power." He let out a grumbled cough. "All of you … you're going to be the death of me, yet."

 **1984 CE Tuchanka (17 cycles after the approval of Bakara's statue and Saela S'aris proposed building an education center around the** _ **Birinc Qan**_   **arena.)**

"And we're to believe the geth are raising and caring for these children in a nurturing manner?"

Wrex eyeballed the asari sitting between Saela S'aris and the asari councillor and left the question for Mellir to answer. The new but familiar face, a much younger Tevos, wouldn't take a seat on the council until her predecessor retired, but he admired her dedication to getting her head firmly wedged up her ass in preparation.

"Yes, they've done their very best to see to all the children's needs." Mellir smiled and waved a hand in an expansive gesture that Wrex would have turned into a backhanded slap. He had no idea how Mellir stayed calm even as she drowned in the council's sea of  _rahat_. After a week of bickering and finger-pointing and the council holding out for even the most ridiculous concessions, Wrex teetered on the verge of either flying into a blood rage or falling over in a coma. He should volunteer to relieve Malani and stay with Quarn for the remainder of the summit.

"You're welcome to accompany the next convoy," Mellir offered. "We have several krogan, asari, and drell travelling to Rannoch to assist the geth. There are even twenty-three quarian young people returning to Rannoch after completing their education at the university." Mellir nodded to the geth envoys standing together at one end of the table before focusing back on Tevos. "Would you care to see the villages the geth have built for the children?"

Tevos glanced at Wrex, then at Saela. "It's safe?"

Wrex just chuckled low in his chest. Same old Tevos, looking out for her ass above all else. "If the geth wanted you dead, you'd be dead." He stabbed his chin toward their platforms. "They're all armed and have been all week."

In truth, it would do the council good to see the villages the geth had made the quarians. Taking his advice to spread out the population, they'd erected a hundred villages in areas not contaminated by the war. The geth performed most of the manual labour of farming and construction, training the older pups. They'd created a thriving population. Even the youngest babies saved after the collector attack were teens, and a whole new generation of repatriated quarians started being born on Rannoch nearly a decade earlier.

"Lady Tevos," Raxi said, shifting a little to draw the asari's focus off the very armed geth, "you've seen what we've built here. The krogan have a university with lecture halls, laboratories, libraries, and hospitals. The drell are creating themselves a paradise in the Raymar valley. And still the council locks us out, denies us all but one minor voice on the Citadel. One voice to speak for four species. Four species who, despite radical differences, manage to get along and look after each other and have been for cycles."

"True," the salarian councillor said, weighing in at long last. "It has been a decade of unprecedented cooperation." He cleared his throat. "I have no further objections to the krogan claiming the drell, quarians, and geth as client species, and as such opening an embassy to represent their interests." He sighed, a quick snort of breath, betraying a level of impatience that Wrex could completely sympathize with. "Providing Urdnot Mellir accepts the position of Ambassador."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence, Councillor Sagosh." Mellir nodded to Raxi, tossing in a quick wink. "And you, Councillor Hirrian? After all, you bring your offspring to  _Birinc Qan_  four times a cycle. Your ardour for participating in honourable battle against and with krogan teammates has won you a great deal of good will among the krogan. We hope it extends in the other direction as well."

The turian nodded. "You have my support for a shared embassy on the Citadel. If the geth are willing to cooperate with the other species, I see no reason why they couldn't have a voice under the krogan umbrella. For now."

Wrex shoved himself up in his chair, the sudden appearance of the votes taking him by surprise. He thought Tevos intended to drag them back into the entire geth aren't trustworthy quagmire.

The asari councillor made a show of considering her two compatriots, her elbow propped against the arm of the chair as she braced her fingertips against her temple. "Very well," she said after a couple of minutes. "I will vote yes providing we are permitted to tour Rannoch, both geth facilities and those created for the quarians."

Wrex rolled his eyes, but just clamped his jaw shut and swallowed the urge to call her out on her crap. She'd been through every centimetre of both krogan  _gikgahs_ , practically inspected the drell's teeth and under their fingernails while touring their land, even sitting in on classes and reading every syllabus for every class in the university. Wrex couldn't be certain, but he was pretty sure she'd crept into his bedchamber and crawled right up his ass looking for weapons of mass destruction.

Still, Mellir smiled, that infuriatingly patient smile, and nodded. "I believe you'll be very impressed in the facilities and the care the children receive." She stood. "Shall we adjourn to the gardens for the evening meal?"

Wrex stood and grumbled as he stretched, sharing a private, snarky grin with Mellir. She took a sadistic pleasure in forcing him to sit through the talks. He'd begun to worry that his ass would grow roots into the chair before they settled anything. At least the council had all agreed to the krogan embassy, even though they hid their agreement in a flood of conditions. If the council actually stood up on the Citadel in front of an assembly to announce the appointment of the krogan ambassador, Wrex would eat an entire basket of dirty underclothing. Damned double-talking politicians.

Hirrian sidled up to the clan chief. "So, Wrex … how about a ten on ten in the arena before I head back to the Citadel?"

Chuckling, Wrex shrugged and slapped the turian's shoulder. "Are you sure you want to get your bony ass pummeled while you're on a diplomatic mission?"

**1986 CE Tuchanka (2 cycles after the vote to grant the krogan an embassy.)**

" _Makah_?  _Hinah_?" Canvas snapped and billowed with a strong wind, almost drowning out Raxira's soft words.

Wrex leaned up on an elbow, eyes heavy with sleep and stinging from the light shining in the open end of the tent. "What is it?"

"Decan," Raxi replied and paused, swallowing hard enough that Wrex heard it. "It's time."

 _Rahat._  They'd brought the old  _torin_  out into the desert when his organs began to shut down. Still, he'd held on for nearly a week, sharing the sun and the proceeds of a good hunt with his pups and grandpups. That night, though …. Wrex pushed himself the rest of the way up, sitting on the side of the cot, the glow from the lantern blinding in the thick, early morning darkness. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and cradled his head in his hands, his hearts laboured as they pounded in his chest. That night they'd all known Quarn's time no longer measured in days or hours but minutes.

Behind him, Samara stirred. "We'll be right there,  _nitti_." Once the lantern disappeared on the other side of the tent flap, the  _nais_  leaned in against Wrex's back, arm wrapped around him, her chin resting on his shoulder. "Knowing it's coming doesn't make it any easier. He's going to leave a big hole in our lives."

Wrex nodded once and then took a deep breath and sat up straight. He turned to wrap an arm around her waist and nuzzled her cheek. He wanted to tell her that having her and Raxi at his side made it easier … that they filled his every day with light, but words failed him, so he grunted softly, then reached for his boots. She'd know. Samara always knew everything he couldn't find the words to express.

All the tents glowed with light, the sounds of muffled sorrow and confused, sleepy pups carried on the wind. Wrex ducked through the flap and turned his face into the strong night breeze. Sucking in long breaths of the air, smiling at the hint of rain carried on it, he braced himself.

Raxi and Samara already knelt next to the turian's cot when crossed over to the fire … Quarn's pups had carried it out under the stars. The clan chief looked up. The gleaming pinpricks of light shone like a curtain against the black, just another glimpse of how much Tuchanka had changed since that first day Wrex called Quarn down from the orbital stations to deal with the STG blowing up the old camp.

Wrex knelt next to Samara and rested a hand on his best friend's head. "So, you're leaving us?"

Gold eyes, pale and milky, still sparkled with good humour. "I got you krogan sorted. You've got an embassy now." He panted weakly, eyes drifting closed. "My work is done."

Quarn gripped Wrex's collar, tugging him down, the  _torin_  still surprisingly strong considering how weakly his heart beat and how shallow he breathed. Wrex swallowed and touched his brow to his best friend's, the first and only time they'd shared an embrace more intimate than a slap on the back or shoulder punch.

"Thank you," Quarn said, his voice all but lost to the breeze.

Wrex let out a long breath, and lifted his friend's shoulders from the cot, holding Quarn tight against his chest.  _Rahat_ , the turian had gotten so frail; he weighed nothing. But hadn't the old bastard held on? "For what?" the clan chief whispered then cleared his throat and sniffed back the thick, heaviness pressing against his vocal chords.

Quarn smiled, his mandible flicking against Wrex's cheek. "For allowing me to witness history." He let out a shaky breath. "And for never letting me down." He tried to reach up, his hand trembling so hard that Wrex captured it in his. "And for … being the best friend ..." His words dipped off hard enough that Wrex looked up, beckoning to Malani and Quarn's pups.

He stared into Quarn's eyes and grinned even as he sniffed and cleared his throat, knowing that in the morning, he'd look for Quarn, wanting to talk to the old bastard … and, instead, he'd be laying him out in the Hollows.

Closing his eyes, he let that thought drift into the black before saying, "No one would have put any credits on my best friend turning out to be a smart ass turian." He leaned down, nuzzling Quarn's brow. "I love you, old fool. Rest easy but keep watch; the krogan still need you. I still need you." He touched brows again. "We'll keep your mate and pups safe. Always."

"Thank you … " A tear rolled from the outside corner of Quarn's eye, Wrex brushing it away. "... my  _fratrin._ "

"Goodbye, brother," Wrex said, his last word an oath unspoken in life, but no less dearly felt. Straightening, Wrex settled Quarn on the cot and stood, moving to crouch behind Raxi, his hand rubbing the trembling bow of her spine. Samara joined him, her arm around his waist.

Raxi huddled beside Prilla near the foot of the cot, the  _tarin's_  two pups held tight against his  _kaika_ , all of them sniffling as they smiled through the rain of their tears. Wrex pressed his hand to either small head before returning to his  _kaika's_  narrow back.

As the extended family held each other, all sharing in the moment, Wrex thanked whatever power had thrown him back into his second chance, he owed it so much more than he'd ever have the power to grasp. He owed it his family, a life spent loved and connected.

Malani and Quarn shared whispered words of love, their brows pressed together. And then there, under the stars, Decan Quarn passed the way he wanted to pass … the way an honourable warrior should ... his battles behind him, his family holding him, Tuchanka's brittle wind carrying his spirit onward.

* * *

 

(1) I like to headcanon that Quarians went on pilgrimages prior to their exile, the earlier ones about discovering new traditions and histories of different settlements. Pilgrimages would have ended after their exile to Haratar and the limited flotilla.

(A-N: Four for Four. Crazy. Hoping the muse remains with me. Thanks for the supportive reviews and comments ... and for reading. It means a lot. *hugs and baby clouded leopards.)


	19. Chapter Nineteen - The Dagger's Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And we're here, strong and under a banner of peace rather than being introduced to the council when they have to step in and settle our war with the turians." He cupped her jaw, caressing her cheek with his thumb as he drew her into a searching kiss: the dying man terrified that the water he sees will turn to sand. "It's more than a decade of dreams made manifest."
> 
> Another kiss and then her brilliant, sunshine smile shone down on him. "And we're going to miss seeing them come true if we sit here making out much longer. However tempting and enjoyable it might be." Pat pressed her brow to his. "Come, husband. Let's introduce ourselves to the galaxy."

**Chapter 19 - The Dagger's Edge**

**Gikgah**  - Ancient, ziggurat-like temple structures.

**Nais**  - (pronounced nah-ees) Asari over the age of majority (40)

**September 6, 2154 (IPE Intrepid, docked at the Citadel)**

"Cancer?" The room dove to the left and began to spin, but then Patricia appeared at his side, her hands on his shoulders slowing the rotation. In that other life, his glowing eyes amounted to part of his mystique: enhancements not necessities. Since his reset, they hadn't entered his mind, let alone in such a terrifying way.

"No, the salarians took a deep scan." Jarvis paled a little beneath the heated glare that Jack leveled on him. His physician had allowed detailed scans to be taken by aliens? The doc backed up a step, his hands lifting in a gesture of surrender. "Pat gave them the okay. She's your executor per your living will."

Jack glanced up at his wife, but then pinned the doctor to the board once more. "And they said it's not cancer?"

Patricia's fingers dug into the muscles between his neck and shoulders, gently working at the knots tied into them, a gentle warning. Drawing in a long breath, he rolled his shoulders, letting them drop, her point taken. If he didn't stay relaxed, he'd end up touring the Citadel with an axe buried in his skull.

"While benign, the cystic tumours present an immediate danger." Jarvis stepped forward, finally getting a grip on his balls. An image of the offending tumours appeared above his forearm, glowing orange. "We need to schedule surgery as soon as possible. If they grow much more, even the surgery will endanger your neural function."

Well-used to scientific alarmists, Jack waved the physician off. "It will wait until I'm back on Mars. Until then, my plate is full, and I need to be able to function." He reached up to wrap his fingers around one of Patricia's hands. "Just get me through the next week."

When Jarvis opened his mouth to argue, Patricia stepped between them. "I've got everything down, all the medication organized." She held a hand out, ushering the doctor to the door. "Jack will check in every day while we're here. Thank you, so much." She said the words with such sweet sincerity, that the physician's protests dissolved and scattered before he made it halfway to the door.

Leaning his head back against the leather cushion, Jack closed his eyes and covered them with his arm, taking the moment of peace and quiet to gather himself and rebuild all his walls.

"The kids are waiting with Ms. Obikwelu." Patricia lowered herself onto his lap, sitting across his thighs. "How are you feeling, love?" One talented hand set to work on the back of his neck, coaxing the muscles into surrendering their tension. "Are you ready to board the Citadel?" She pressed her other hand against his chest, fingertips tickling as they combed through the hair just below his collar.

He lowered his arm and sat up. "I am. It's going to be an interesting week. I'd be surprised if Bill and Anita don't manage to charm our way into an embassy by the end of the trip."

She chuckled and leaned in to kiss him, just a soft brush of her lips. "If they don't, our children will. They're quizzing each other on their first contact protocols and race information."

"And we're here, strong and under a banner of peace rather than being introduced to the council when they have to step in and settle our war with the turians." He cupped her jaw, caressing her cheek with his thumb as he drew her into a searching kiss: the dying man terrified that the water he sees will turn to sand. "It's more than a decade of dreams made manifest."

Another kiss and then her brilliant, sunshine smile shone down on him. "And we're going to miss seeing them come true if we sit here making out much longer. However tempting and enjoyable it might be." Pat pressed her brow to his. "Come, husband. Let's introduce ourselves to the galaxy."

Jack grinned and lifted her from his lap. "The kids are probably driving Ms. Obikwelu up the walls."

Patricia took his hand to help him up, and then kept hold of it. "The girls are hanging onto their propriety by a thread." She cocked an eyebrow, affecting a sophisticated tone as she said, "They  _are_  sixteen, after all, but Matt is … " She chuckled and drew him toward the door. "... ten and eager to see real aliens."

Jack chuckled and nodded. "I have to admit to a certain amount of excitement as well." He squeezed her hand. "I'm not sure how to meet a turian without feeling all the hatred and agony that I felt meeting them the last time."

"You were all trying to kill each other last time." She turned to face him as they reached the door. "We're going to be with you all the way through this … most remarkable day. And as many days after as the good Lord grants us. You're not alone this time, Jack, and you know only God has more faith in you than I do."

He stared into her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to anchor himself in the present. He truly wasn't alone. Even Ben and Eva would be stepping onto that station at his side. He nodded and palmed the door control. Humanity stood so far ahead of where they'd been the last time. They'd arrived at the Citadel armed with real technological advances to offer the galaxy, including gifts that even the turians would appreciate.

The crew called out to them as they passed, the atmosphere crackling with excitement. Sometimes Jack thought that he spent so much time focused on every tiny detail, he forgot to appreciate the magic of the moment. Today, on Earth and Mars, humanity would all be riveted to their vid screens, watching their brothers and sisters welcomed into a much larger family.

Of course, it also felt a little like the beginning of the end. He'd pulled humanity directly into the path of the reapers. Maybe he should have waited, sabotaged every attempt to reach out beyond the solar system until the reapers finished the harvest. With fifty thousand years to prepare, humanity might have a real chance.

Oh well. He looked up and plastered a smile on his face as they stepped into the CIC. He'd set their path before them.

He reached a hand out to Anita, gripping hers tight when she shook it. "Congratulations," he said. "And thank you. It's a great moment, and we owe a lot of it to your hard work and vision."

She chuckled, holding onto his hand as she said, "I feel like I should be screaming, 'don't leave me' or begging you to take my place." The tremble in her sigh betrayed her nerves, but her smile gleamed in her eyes. He knew he'd picked the right woman, and not just because she'd done it before. Anita Goyle possessed the soul of an explorer as well as that of a diplomat.

Jack moved on, shaking the hands of the leaders of the trade, culture, and spiritual delegations, greeting each with warm words of optimism. The familiar routine amidst the foreign circumstances helped untie the knots in his gut. A great day, indeed.

A few seconds after Jack and Patricia arrived at the hatch, Ms. Obikwelu and the children hurried toward them, Matt taking a run at Jack and leaping into his arms.

"Well, Big Matt," Jack said between chuckles, "you ready to meet the galaxy?"

His son's eyes shone with the manic sort of eagerness that he usually reserved for Christmas and birthday parties. "Will I meet a volus?" He clung to Jack's neck and leaned back, his grin burrowing down to take root in Jack's soul, a new flower in an old garden. "And an elcor?"

Ben and Eva strode up the length of the CIC. "What about elcor?" Ben asked, tugging restlessly at the front panels of his suit.

"You better be careful around the elcor," Eva teased, swiping a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You're so small, they might not see you before they step on you."

Megan laughed and slipped her hand into Patricia's. "I can't wait to meet an asari."

"How about you, Rache?" Jack stroked a hand down the silken cascade of his daughter's hair then wrapped his arm around her. "Any requests?" he asked tugging her into his side.

His quiet, serious beauty shrugged, but looked up at him with an earnest expression. "I'd love to meet a krogan or a geth. They've had such amazing and tragic histories." Another shrug, that one accompanied by a sigh. "But … I guess that will have to wait."

Jack squeezed her tight. "There are usually a few krogan on the station, so that might happen for you." He kissed the top of her head, loving her zeal for history and gleaning every bit of wisdom she could from the mistakes of their forebearers. "The geth will have to wait for a bit, though."

When the chrono turned over the hour, the  _Intrepid's_  captain unlocked and opened the inner hatch. Anita, her assistant, Ms. Obikwelu, Jack and his family stepped into decon first, the hatch closing behind them before the mist and ultraviolet light enveloped them.

"Now I know what the cakes in my Easy-Bake oven felt like," Megan said, wincing away from the light.

Jack chuckled and reached out to squeeze her shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the moment, on the electric hope crackling between them. Well, hope mixed with an understandable pinch of terror. No step worth taking came without a pinch of terror in the blend.

The outer hatch opened onto the docking tube and two C-sec officers standing to either side of an asari. The  _nais_  lifted a hand in welcome, but Jack's eyes locked on her guards, barely hearing her words as she said her name was Nelyna, and she offered greetings on behalf of the council. She passed them earbud translators, Jack accepting his and slipping it into his ear without looking away.

The turian officer garnered no more of his attention than a quick glance and nod, but the other … . Jack's heart sped up. A krogan face glared at him through the helmet's visor. A krogan in C-Sec? While there might have been one or two in his other life, he'd never seen or heard of them.

"Jack Harper," he said, quickly focusing on Nelyna as she greeted him. Stepping aside a little, he held his hand out toward his family. "This is my wife, Patricia, and our children: Rachel, Megan, and Matthew." He showed the kids how to adjust their translators before helping them put them in.

Nelyna cooed over the youngsters, offering them her hand. "It's practice to shake hands amongst humans, correct?"

"It is," Matt said, very matter-of-factly, letting go of Patricia long enough to give the asari's hand a firm, three pump shake. "I'm very pleased to meet you."

Jack beamed as his son stepped back, allowing his sisters to make their greetings. When Matt looked up at him, a giant grin on his adorable face, Jack winked in reply.

"I apologize if any of my words come through untranslated," Nelyna said after she'd finished shaking hands. "We've integrated your common tongue the best we could in such a short time."

Jack and Patricia smiled and moved to the end of the docking tunnel to wait. Jack's hand itched to reach up and touch the door control, wanting to break through all the formalities and get to work. Of course, that would never happen. Their love of the political dance formed the greatest of his reasons for hating the council in that other life: everything amounted to talk, talk, talk, and no action. He drew a deep breath and wriggled his jaw side to side, easing the tension. Soon enough.

Once the entire boarding delegation made it through decontamination and wore their earbuds, Nelyna appeared at their head once more.

"The council has arranged a receiving line of people eager to meet you all. Some of them will be important contacts for you in the days to come. They are waiting along the docking bay, which will also allow you a stunning view of the ward arms." She clapped her hands together with a zeal that assured Jack she must have beaten out a great many applicants to win the position of Alien Greeter. "We've made arrangements for your documentary crews and for relay feeds back to the Charon Relay. In addition, there will be a retinue of reporting agencies present to broadcast the coming days to every council planet. We will keep them behind barriers so they aren't a nuisance."

After a brief pause, she barreled right on, not missing a beat. "Once you're finished with the receiving line, we'll issue your temporary IDs." A brilliant, friendly smile flashed. "Don't worry, Ms. Goyle sent all your information ahead, so the administrative part is finished."

She raised her brow line. "Any questions?" After waiting a few seconds, she continued, "Shuttles are waiting to transport you to the Citadel Tower for your official welcome. At the conclusion of the formalities, the council will meet you in their conference room." She palmed the door control. "The rest of your tour schedule will be presented at that meeting. If you have any questions, please do ask." Her gaze turned to Matt and the girls. "Ready?"

"Ready," Matt said, grinning up at her.

"Excellent. There are a great many people eager to meet you." She opened the door to reveal the semi-dark of a private dock, the lights bright over the long access, but unable to breach the black space beyond.

Jack took Patricia's hand and stepped out, freezing the moment he turned to look down the long, u-shaped line of notables awaiting them. He'd expected the asari, turians, and salarians with a possibility of hanar, elcor, and volus diplomats, but before him stood drell, krogan, quarians without their suits, and … geth. Dear god, geth standing among the rest … one in the receiving line and another in C-Sec colors.

"What in the name of …," he muttered under his breath. His gut twisted and he spun back as if he'd see some evidence of deception or trickery back in the docking ramp. The universe spun too quickly, pain carving into his skull.

"Jack?" Patricia squeezed his hand, her face tight with fear. "What is it, love?"

He shook his head in response to her question. Nothing looked out of order and other than the pain, his reality looked the same, untouched by madness. Well, except for the presence of the krogan and other marginalized races. He shuddered, the motion shedding the worst of the shock, and slapped his game face on. He'd smile, shake hands, and suffer through the formalities then ask for the history of the Citadel and its races afterward. Somehow things had changed, drastically; those differences presenting a mystery he needed to solve and quickly in order to maintain traction on facing the reapers. Somehow it would all make sense.

Moving down the line, Jack forced himself to breathe and smile, greeting each of the different diplomats and politicians with a stained-glass smile and hearty handshake. He took note only of a few he needed to know better—Palaven's primarch, a volus banker, and a group of matriarchs who could facilitate business on Thessia and Illium—moving as quickly as possible toward the krogan ambassador and her retinue. Maybe there, he'd get some answers and a solid foothold amidst the typhoon.

"Greetings," the female krogan said, her voice stiff, formal, and deep, "I am Urdnot Mellir, ambassador of the krogan, drell, quarian, and geth people."

Jack shook her hand, cutting himself off before he could express his surprise to see a krogan ambassador. "It's a pleasure to meet you." He offered her a stiff smile. "I'm very interested to learn about krogan history and how you came to the Citadel."

"I'm sure you are," said a deep voice from beside Mellir. Jack looked up into a scarred, krogan face … a familiar face; crimson eyes staring at him from under a rust-red plate. The large mouth lifted up at one corner, the eyes narrowing. "So, you're responsible for all this?" the krogan asked, his words too low to be overheard, an almost-growl. One hand lifted to slide a curved-black knife halfway from its sheath. "Because this isn't how I recall humanity showing up. Wasn't there something about a war …?"

"I could ask the same of you, Urdnot Wrex." Jack shook the krogan's hand, unable to match Wrex pound for pound, but trying. "Drell, quarian … geth … and a krogan embassy? Is this your doing?" He shook his head. Standing in the middle of a huge crowd of politicians hardly offered an ideal forum for discussing what now appeared to be a shared event. Still, he wanted to pelt the krogan with questions … demand answers.

Instead, he held out a hand to usher his family in. "Urdnot Mellir … Urdnot Wrex, this is my family." He introduced them, saving Rachel for last. "And this is my daughter, Rachel, who very much wanted to meet a krogan and a geth."

Wrex bent down to shake the children's hands before offering Patricia a deep, respectful bow of his head. The krogan clan chief turned toward two asari. "This is my family. My daughter, Raxira, and my bond-mate, Samara." Glowing with pride, the clan chief wrapped his arm around his mate, one giant hand on her very pregnant belly. "And our second daughter, Meeka."

Samara's arm rose to wrap around her unborn daughter, an almost defensive move that made Jack wonder how much Wrex had disclosed to his family.

"Congratulations," Patricia said, stepping up to cover Jack's gawking. "Such a blessing." She shook the asaris' hands before looking from Raxira to Samara. "Your daughter is a beautiful maiden." Ushering Rachel and Megan forward, Patricia glowed. "These are my treasures."

Jack allowed Patricia to keep the conversation going while he recovered from hearing the name Samara. After a couple of seconds, he managed a polite nod despite his surprise, despite wanting to ask if she was a justicar. Maybe it was a common name, but her face … the square jaw. Damn, Wrex had a hell of a lot to answer for.

Wrex thumped a hand down on Jack's shoulder, his grip painful and definitely not friendly. The knife still gleamed in silent threat less than an arm's length from Jack's face as the krogan said, "We can share a car to the tower and compare notes."

Jack nodded, grateful that the krogan wanted answers as much as he did. It might save him from instant decapitation once they lost their audience. "Acceptable. Until then."

"But meanwhile," Patricia said, slipping her hand into his, "we should move on; we're holding up the line." She nodded to the krogan. "We look forward to getting to know you and your family."

Jack nodded to the ambassador and Samara, then moved to shake hands with the quarian diplomat.

He knew what quarians looked like thanks to Cerberus experiments, but the robust, strapping female diplomat resembled those quarians no more than a shark resembled a fish. Long-limbed and well-muscled, she wore an ivory robe that draped from her shoulders to pool on the deck plating. She'd decorated her pale, mauve skin with gems, specks of gleaming colour accentuating her brow ridges and the ridge of her nose. A lengthy mane of lustrous, black hair looped up into an ornamented bun.

Jack shook her hand, the gesture alone—the soft skin of her palm against his—a revelation. Wrex must have done something to prevent the Morning War, a guess supported by the diplomat.

"Blessings of the ancestors be upon you through your voyage," she said. "I am Rayn'Zorah nas Nabelak, Rannoch's liaison to the Citadel. It gives me great pleasure to meet you." She turned toward the geth on her right side. "This is my counterpart, the geth envoy, Darith."

The platform bowed its head. "We are pleased to greet the human species and welcome your people to the Citadel."

Jack shook the metal hand, amused by the way the platform cocked its head, as if studying the gesture. He wanted to grab the pair of them and shake them until answers fell out. Had Wrex done something to alter the reapers' timetable? Still, he nodded. "A pleasure to meet you as well."

Patricia pushed him down the line, keeping him moving through the drell, volus, elcor, and hanar representatives. "I take it things aren't exactly the way you anticipated?" she asked, the words slipping past a sly smile when they stood by the elevator, given a moment to catch their breath.

"Not by a long shot," he agreed, squeezing her hand. "Wrex was on the Crucible with Shepard and I. He must have experienced a moment as I did, bringing knowledge of the future back with him. The geth and quarians living together on Rannoch, drell representing themselves on the Citadel … a krogan embassy …." He stopped, the world disappearing into waves of dizziness, sharp spikes of light flashing before his eyes.

Patricia moved to block him from view of all but the C-Sec officers at the elevator door, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Are you getting a migraine?" She leaned in to whisper, as always, the soul of discretion.

Jack shook his head, swallowing the lie. They could stop to deal with it once the formalities ended. He couldn't show weakness so early in the game. Until things started rolling along on their own, he and the other delegates remained examples of their species.

Matt grabbed Jack's other hand, tugging at Jack's attention as he swung their joined arms. "I want to meet a krogan as big as me," he announced loud enough to draw kind chuckles from the delegates. "Wrex said that they like to headbutt." He stood tall, his shoulders broad, other hand on his hip. "Mom is always telling me I have a hard head. I'd be able to head butt a krogan."

Jack chuckled and ducked around Patricia to lift his son in his arms, sitting him on his hip. "You think your head is hard enough for that, Big Matt?" He kissed his son's cheek … the treasure he'd never been gifted in that past life. "Maybe wear a helmet."

Ben and Eva walked up, both a little drawn around the eyes, but flushed and smiling. Jack nodded to his friends, eager for all the excitement to end so they could just sit, have a drink, and reflect on their journey. Over the years, he allowed the mission to pull them apart, a mistake he intended to rectify.

Matt laughed and hugged Jack's neck, his arms loving bands of steel that bore the promise to never let go. When the boy leaned back, he snatched up his ID, lifting it to read his name. He showed it to his father, a wide grin setting Jack's heart thumping against his ribs. "Look, Dad ... Ben, I'm a galactic citizen." He giggled, his neck arched and head tipped, cocky and proud.

"Let me look at that," Ben said, pulling it close to examine it. "Hmmm, it appears you are."

Jack let out a long breath and blinked back the burning in his eyes. He smiled at Eva, his friend standing back by the railing, silent and looking a little overwhelmed.

"See, Dad?" Matt shoved the ID into Jack's face.

"You sure are, Big Matt." He hugged his son close. "You sure are."

Megan chuckled, shaking her head in exaggerated despair. "Lord help the unsuspecting galaxy."

When all the Earth delegates made it through the receiving line, Nelyna appeared at the doors to the elevator. "The shuttles are waiting just outside the C-Sec Academy doors. Please stay close and we'll get you all over to the tower in a few minutes."

Jack lowered Matt to the dock plating, but kept him close to his side. He worried about the kids getting separated, so beckoned to Ms. Obikwelu. "Please keep an eye on Matt and the girls when we get out into the Citadel. There's going to be a lot drawing their attention."

The solemn young woman nodded. "Like a hawk, sir." She stepped back, blending into the shadows so adeptly, she could have been security.

Wrex and his family appeared by their side, the krogan offering Matt his hand. "Show me the strength in those arms."

When Matt looked to him first, Jack nodded. In a hundred years of trying, Matt could never hurt the krogan, and he trusted the setting, if not Wrex, to keep the krogan's touch light. Wrex might be a great many things … the krogan may be a great many things, but they adored children, theirs having been so precious and rare for so long.

Matt gripped one of Wrex's massive fingers, his face twisting into an adorable mask of effort and machismo, despite turning the colour of an angry beet.

"Ow," Wrex said, making a show as he yelped and snatched his hand back. "You could be a krogan warrior with a grip like that." He ruffled Matt's hair, chuckling as the boy beamed with pride. "You keep working at it, little warrior."

They packed into the elevator ten at a time, Nelyna ushering them from the elevator to the line of cars outside the Academy doors. Jack put Ms. Obikwelu, Patricia, and the kids in the same car as Samara and Wrex's daughter, instinct as well as history reassuring him that he couldn't leave them in safer hands.

"You want me to use wife-talk to see what I can learn, don't you?" Patricia whispered in his ear under the guise of kissing his cheek. He nodded and kissed her. "I shall be the very soul of discretion," she said, then pulled away.

"I'll see you at the tower." Shaking his head in answer to Matt's pleading, he promised, "You can have all the time with Wrex you want at the banquet tonight."

When the door closed and the car lifted from the street, Jack watched as it turned into traffic and sped away. He looked around him, recalling seeing the sight for the first time, and how different it looked to him then. Mere months out from losing his family and best friends, he viewed every face around him with a hatred so strong that it felt like venom coursing through his veins. In a lot of ways, that hatred never eased. He merely experienced it less by isolating himself in space.

Hearing the chatter of the second group approaching, he strode to where Wrex waited in the next vehicle. He slid into the passenger seat and hit the door button, saying nothing as the side doors and top closed around them.

The silence remained oddly cordial as the auto-controls lifted off and swung around to join the flow of traffic. Wrex cast a few sidelong glances at Jack, but they didn't feel menacing. That surprised him. Cerberus went out of its way … he'd gone out of his way to prevent the genophage cure. He'd made Cerberus into galactic enemy number two during the war.

"So," Wrex said at last, his tone biting with sharper teeth than before, "I thought I killed you on that platform."

Jack nodded. "Near enough." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, drawing the memories forward. They hadn't faded over the years, but they had been sent to storage in a place where it took effort to draw them out. He remembered walking out of his hiding place on the platform and beginning to talk, then a small bus ran over him, and everything went black. Well, everything but rough hands flipping him over, checking for signs of life. Vakarian. Vakarian manhandled him then left him for dead.

He opened his eyes and looked over to meet Wrex's even stare. "Everything went black, then next thing I knew, I was standing in my boss's office, and I was thirty-years-old, trying to decide whether to accept his offer of a placement on Mars."

Wrex chuckled. "You knew where to find the prothean ruins." He nodded as if everything suddenly made sense.

"And you?" Jack asked, curious and relieved at the civil tone of the discussion. He'd never considered that anyone else might have appeared back in their younger lives, armed with knowledge of the future.

"Arrived just before I killed my father." Wrex shrugged. "Did it better this time around and stayed after Jarrod died. Spent the last three hundred cycles reclaiming Tuchanka, working to get the krogan accepted back into the galaxy."

"And the drell, quarians … the geth?" Jack knew he wouldn't get a detailed answer any more than he'd offer one, but any answers would help him decide how much of a threat the changes posed.

"Stepped in near the end of the Morning War, worked with the geth to evacuate all the surviving quarians to Haratar. Collectors came after them nearly a century later." Wrex paused, his voice tighter when he continued, "The adults all disappeared before we got there, and the geth took the children back to Rannoch."

Jack watched the krogan chief battle with that moment, a sudden wash of understanding and relief relaxing most of his tension. "You think the collectors attacked because you saved too many of them? That the galaxy was becoming too strong?" The krogan might have spent the past three centuries changing and strengthening the outlying races, but he hadn't done so without care.

Wrex merely nodded. "I asked an asari matriarch to look for the drell. She found Rakhana and we've spent two centuries evacuating large settlements to Tuchanka and Rannoch while we rebuild and decontaminate their planet. The population has settled at four billion. A hundred million live on Tuchanka. They're fierce and talented warriors."

Jack smiled, a crooked expression of mixed emotions, balancing hope and caution. "And the krogan?"

"We've cleaned up large sections of Tuchanka, rebuilt four major cities around the ancient  _gikgahs_. We have a large university, cultural centers. We have earned our place." Wrex's pride couldn't be more apparent, but then it drained away. "Your turn. How did you get here?" A low thunder of menace rolled beneath the words. "Should I have killed you the second you stepped off that ship?"

Jack glanced at the still-apparent knife. "I kept the prothean ruins a secret, took humanity back out onto colony worlds. Brought them here rather than allowing the government to bungle into war." Jack stared out the side window, the brilliant white buildings of the presidium gleaming in the fake sunlight. "I was indoctrinated at the end. I won't be caught in that trap this time. I won't allow humanity to get caught in that trap."

"So, you're here in peace" The clan chief coughed, a rude, almost retching sound of disbelief. "What happened to human dominance over the races? What happened to controlling the reapers?"

"We're here to work with the galaxy, starting with cooperation from the beginning." Jack shrugged, not surprised by the krogan's mistrust. After a moment, he debated whether or not he should tell Wrex about Shepard. Then, it didn't matter.

"Have you screwed up Shepard's history?" the krogan demanded, very real threat setting all the hair on the back of Jack's neck and arms on end. "If you mess with her, I'll rip your limbs off, roast them, and feed them to you." He reached up, an absent hand brushing the length of that vicious-looking knife.

"She's on Mindoir. Her family settled there a week or so ago." Jack sighed and stretched, the tendons and ligaments along his spine pinging like plucked violin strings. The pain in his head deepened from a pulse to a throb, the waves deepening and rolling with every breath. "I have no intention of interfering with her life. We need her to grow into the woman who united a galaxy against the reapers."

Wrex grunted. "I'll believe it when I see it." He lowered the car toward the street outside the massive tower. "I'll believe all of it when I see it." A soft chuff preceded his next words. "Good move bringing Goyle in from the start. Udina?"

Jack allowed a genuine grin as he turned to meet the krogan's crimson stare. "In a mental institution. He became a security concern."

Wrex grinned and nodded. "It's a good start." He chuckled. "Never knew if the whole thing was just a dream or madness until now."

Nodding, Jack let out a long, noisy breath. "Still might be a shared madness, but it's good to know I'm not the only one."

And it was. As odd as it might feel, reassurance flooded his bloodstream, a bond forming with the surly krogan. Strange to find an ally in Wrex, but perhaps it meant that Shepard would recall her former life at some point. The three of them working together … surely, they could find a way to end the reapers.

(A-N: I'm a day late, but hopefully not a dollar short. As always, your reviews and comments made me cackle like a crazy old lady rocking on a porch, covered in cats. No wait … that's my usual day … a crazy old lady rocking on a porch while she snorts catnip? I dunno, but I loved hearing from you. And YES! The first two timelines merge. I hope you enjoyed the show. :D Thank you always always!)


	20. Chapter Twenty - A Certain Sort of Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While [Wrex] loomed, kestrel sharp, watching the uneasy waters, Samara and Harper's mate spoke of open-ended plans to visit Tuchanka and Earth, of sharing cultures and art. Wrex approved; he'd enjoy seeing Earth before reaper jaws reduced it to tattered meat decaying on scorched bones.

**Hinah**  - (Asari) Mother. The bearing parent.

 **Kaika** \- (Asari) Daughter.

 **Makah**  - (Asari) Father. The non-bearing parent.

 **Makua**  - (Asari) Uncle

 **Nais**  - (Asari) pronounced Nah-ees. Asari over the age of majority (40)  **Plural - Naisa**

 **Rahat** \- (krogan) expletive equivalent to human 'shit'.

 **Sikah** \- (krogan) Ritual dagger made from a thresher maw tooth awarded to krogan youth after their rite of passage.

 **Kai'ana**  - (Asari) Sister

**September 6, 2154 (The Citadel)**

Wrex abandoned Harper at the car, striding across the open square, feet heavy and urgent as they thumped over the polycrete. The Avina kiosk on Samara's right hand washed her in its pale pinks and purples, the light caressing the curves of her face. When he stepped up behind her, she reached back, her fingers comforting as they slid down his arm. The contact anchored him for the first time in what felt like days rather than hours. Her touch worked better than his half-drawn  _sikah_. Still, he left the weapon visible, broadcasting a warning he might not need, but one he knew Harper understood well enough.

While he loomed, kestrel sharp, watching the uneasy waters, Samara and Harper's mate spoke of open-ended plans to visit Tuchanka and Earth, of sharing cultures and art. Wrex approved; he'd enjoy seeing Earth before reaper jaws reduced it to tattered meat decaying on scorched bones. However, the clan chief added nothing to the conversation, focusing on looming over his jewels, a silent wall of vigilance that allowed them to talk without worry.

Harper's … the Illusive Man's ... unexpected appearance set Wrex's every nerve on high alert. While it avoided the waste of the first contact war, humanity's introduction felt staged, altogether off … not rotten, exactly, but off … meat left in the sun an hour too long. While Harper buried everything under 'the people of Earth'—and he had brought a brilliantly wide spectrum of humanity—a hungry satisfaction in the man's eyes told the truth. He'd arranged it, and everything parading before Wrex and the galaxy's eyes belonged to Cerberus in some form or another.

Wrex had already been on the Citadel, assisting Mellir with trade negotiations. He needed more recyclers as well as water and soil reclamation equipment to meet the growing demand for crop, orchard, and grazing range on Tuchanka. The asari wanted to investigate the industrial applications of klixen accelerant and thresher maw acid. They'd nearly concluded writing up the deal when news of the new species spread like wildfire up and down the station. Humanity making peaceful contact took him by surprise, sowing his first doubts about being the only one on the Crucible sent back.

Jack Harper's double take when he stepped off the docking arm said everything Wrex needed to know about the change. It both comforted the clan chief and terrified him. He enjoyed his sanity being weighed and found balanced, always nice to have his crazy levels confirmed. But a much stronger humanity coming in, gunning for the reapers from the starting line … nothing pure grew from poisoned ground. Experience left him with some painful, first hand knowledge of how the collectors and reapers reacted to feeling threatened.

Harper slipped in to take his wife's hand, the woman turning to look at him with a puzzling level of devotion. "Shall we?" the man said, turning to his daughters. "Probably not a good idea to keep the council waiting."

"Can we stand with Raxi?" Megan asked, green eyes bright with hope. She and her twin both glowed with a pure joy and intelligence that added to Wrex's confusion even as it settled his concern a little.

The little guy, Matt's, excitement over meeting aliens puzzled him as well; Wrex had no idea what to do with the child's innocent zeal. The head of the greatest terrorist threat in the galaxy … the man who singlehandedly warped his own people into monsters to oppose Shepard … he'd raised his children without prejudice?

Samara nudged him, sliding her arm through his. "They're very friendly," she said, as they followed the rest of the small group. "And the little one is taken with you."

Wrex looked to where Harper herded Matt toward the elevator, the boy craning his neck to look back, a brilliant grin flashing when they made eye contact. "None of them are what I expected," Wrex said, grumbling.

Samara squeezed his arm. "What do you mean? You were expecting humanity, or you were expecting these humans specifically?"

"Not these humans specifically, no." Wrex shook his head, meeting her gaze obliquely. "I think it's time to bring you and Raxi in on a secret I've been keeping for a long time. But not here." He smiled, trying to reassure the suddenly concerned expression souring her beauty, and released her arm, his hand pressing into the small of her back to usher her into the carriage.

The ride up to the council chambers passed by far more quickly than usual, the three young females talking faster than Wrex imagined mouths could move. They skipped through subjects just as quickly, as if they needed to share everything about themselves, their species, and their homeworlds right off the starting line.

As soon as they stepped into the council chambers, the chatter lowered to whispers, the massive room pressing down on all of them. The only person he ever saw shrug off the oppressive grandeur was Shepard, she'd …. Wrex swallowed and looked over at Jack Harper. The man lifted his son into his arms, pointing out different things once the lad settled on his father's hip.

Harper said Shepard's family settled on Mindoir, which meant the batarians leaving her an orphan at sixteen. She'd talked to him about it enough that he knew it formed a huge part of her inspiration to join the Alliance. She wanted … no, needed … to protect others from the same fate. Would she be the same warrior without the heartbreak and terror? And if she remembered her other life as he and Harper did … did the experience of losing her parents even need to be repeated? Surely, her previous fire would carry over just like his. Just like Harper's.

How much would she hate Wrex for letting it all happen again? If she remembered her past life and then found out about him, she'd be furious with him for not trying to save the colony, no matter how noble the reason. With Shepard, emotion and loyalty fueled her reasoning, and while she might forgive, she'd never forget.

Samara took his hand and squeezed it, pulling his attention back to her. They'd reached the highest level of the chambers. He led the way off to the side, surprised when Harper sent his children with them, the ex-illusive man and his mate tailing the human emissaries up the supplicant platform.

The girls whispered, pointing out whatever captured their interest, the three of them as thick as thieves less than twenty minutes after meeting. Raxi worked her magic with a skill that came as naturally as breathing. He watched them, turning to the council only after they began the formal greeting.

Even then he focused on Anita Goyle and Jack Harper over the blah blah of the rest. The diplomats and trade negotiators he'd leave to Mellir and her staff, but Goyle and Harper …. He rumbled softly under his breath as the beginning of a plan sparked in the back of his head. If the krogan and the humans became friendly, the council might offer both races council seats just to keep him from adding another race to his coalition of the unwanted and underappreciated.

He knew the council worried. They worried about the growing number of asari and turians on Tuchanka learning from krogan battlemasters—even earning  _sikahs_  by completing the rites of first blood and passage. They worried about the university's enrollment growing each cycle, every seat booked. They worried about the krogan and quarian-geth alliance developing weapon and ship tech in massive leaps and bounds, despite them sharing some of those advances freely. Quantum entanglement based communications, new medical technologies, and more efficient starship drive cores; the krogan placed them all at the council's feet, but the supplications increased the council's paranoia rather than easing it.

The three politicians worried enough that a solid partnership between the humans and the krogan might just shatter three centuries of stalling.

As soon as a krogan councillor stood alongside the others, he'd be able to begin work to have the genophage cured. Birth rates rose steadily, the past two hundred years welcoming eight percent more live young than the previous two centuries thanks to therapies developed by krogan scientists. In turn, the hope purchase by those new births kept more krogan at home, willing to rebuild and breed, as much as the word made Wrex cringe.

Allowing females freedom to work freely alongside the males, no longer needing to be sheltered and hidden away had turned a thousand cycles of history on its head. With a cure, the krogan could increase their numbers in a controlled, responsible manner, rebuilding Tuchanka along the way to help support the new population.

 _Birinc Qan_  changed a great deal. It allowed the krogan to equate battle with culture and pride. He knew the same pride could be used and transferred to selective population growth.

"We welcome humanity," Tevos said, her hands held out as if bestowing a blessing on the solemn humans. "May friendships grow and our peoples prosper through this meeting of new cultures and technologies."

"Thank you, Councillor Tevos." Anita Goyle stepped up to the edge of the platform. "Thank you all for such a warm greeting. We look forward to building strong, lasting friendships with the other members of this galactic community … with cultures so beautifully varied."

Wrex tuned out the boring speeches, turning his attention to Samara as she shifted a little, the foot-to-foot shuffle broadcasting the ache tightening its grip on her spine. She answered his concern with a smile and subtle head shake, but he knew they needed to give her some time to lie down before the evening's festivities.

Wrex fled just before the formal greeting ended, racing to beat the crowds to the elevator. They parted ways with the Harpers at the cab stand and caught a car back to the hotel near the krogan embassy.

Once Samara settled on the bed, she coughed softly and patted the mattress beside her, beckoning to Wrex and their  _kaika_. "You said you had something to tell us," she reminded him.

He chuffed, a deep, throaty cough. As if he needed reminding. He settled himself, sitting with his back pressed to the headboard. The moment he stopped moving, Raxi climbed up to sit across his thighs, leaning back into the angle between his arm and chest. Chuckling, he nuzzled her temple. No matter how old his Raxi got, she remained his little  _kaika_.

He took a deep breath, immediately regretting it when three different perfumes and ten different detergents marched up his nasal passages to lay siege. A cough-sneeze combo cleared away the worst of the sting, and he bit into the story, as strange and chewy as it might be.

"This is going to sound insane, but the moment the humans showed up, I knew I needed to tell you the truth of my 'gift.'" Letting out a long rumble, he tried to decide how to serve up his madness, going with rare. Quick and blunt. "I've lived twice, and I remember the first life as clearly as I remember this one."

Raxi's brow furrowed into a knot of perplexed wrinkles as she stared at him, the wheels and gears inside that razor-sharp mind all turning. "That's crazy." She turned to her  _hinah_. "That's impossible and crazy, right?"

"Let your  _makah_  explain," Samara said and reached out to take Raxi's hand.

Wrex held Raxi against him, arms looped around her, as he told them the tale of fighting through the Reaper War and being catapulted back, finishing up with Harper confirming that he'd been tossed back as well.

When he finished, both of his  _naisa_  stared at him, matching sets of powder-blue eyes narrowed and considering. After more than a minute, Raxi let out a long sigh and leaned back against Wrex's arm.

"Goddess, you've just explained so much," she said, rolling her eyes. "Sometimes you said stuff that had me seriously concerned for your sanity, but now I get it." A bright, mischievous grin sparked across her face. "You're completely crazy, of course, but at least there's a reason for it."

A low growl rolled deep in Wrex's chest, just making his  _kaika_  cackle harder.

"Oooo, I'm so scared Clan Chief Badass." She flopped back over his arm, hers limp as they dangled over her head, swaying like seaweed. "Still, I like the humans. If Jack Harper is evil under his civilized mask, his family isn't." She waved back and forth, arms still dangling. "If I keep this up, I'll probably barf," she declared suddenly. "Just warning you."

Wrex tickled her side, nearly knocked senseless when she bolted upright, her brow smacking into his cheek. "Graceful," he grumbled, rubbing his face. "You're definitely your  _hinah's_  pup. So graceful."

Raxi grinned as she scrubbed at the growing bump on her head. "Don't forget amazingly gorgeous. There's a lot of gorgeous mixed in too."

"I agree," Samara said. She cleared her throat, her voice soft and weary when Raxi grinned like a varren snacking on pyjaks. "I agree we've made friendly inroads," she said, bursting their  _kaika's_  bubble. "We need only nurture those friendships and ease humanity and Cerberus into a more constructive role." Holding her belly, she sorted her pillows, shooing Wrex away when he tried to help.

"But what about Shepard?" She sighed. "If she remembers her previous life as you and Jack Harper do, then there's no reason to put her through so much pain. Is there?"

Wrex shrugged. "We arrived when we did thanks to a decision that changed the course of our lives. I chose honour when I killed Jarrod, and then stayed on Tuchanka afterwards. Harper chose to take the job on Mars rather than wait."

"So, if we interfere," Raxi said, her voice barely more than a whisper, "Shepard might never have to face the decision that triggers her memory." She leaned into Wrex. "This whole thing tastes like an elcor's ankle."

Wrex nodded. "But we can keep watch over her, make sure Harper doesn't mess with her." He lifted Raxi from his legs and set her on her feet beside the bed. "And we need to keep an eye on Harper, make sure he doesn't start trying to upgrade anyone or anything with reaper technology." He bent down to brush Samara's brow with his. "But for now, rest so this  _kaika_  doesn't try to come out during a council function like the last one did."

"Lie down with me," Samara said, a warm, calloused palm caressing his jaw.

Wrex did as she asked, stretching out on his side so he could look into his mate's eyes … into those ageless pools of wisdom and strength. As much as he remembered caring for Bakara in his former life, he'd never imagined feeling the depth of emotion Samara planted inside his hearts. They'd been together more than two hundred and fifty cycles, each day revealing some new aspect of her soul … each day a wonder … even the ones where her obnoxiously serene wisdom made him frustrated enough to rip his own plates off.

"I'm calling home, so don't be making any weird noises in here," Raxi called over her shoulder as she ducked through the door. A second later, her head peeked back in. "And no going into labour. I've got so much to tell Liara about!"

Wrex chuckled and shook his head, throwing one of the small decorative pillows at her. "Just go make your call."

**October 2, 2156 (The Urdnot-T'Soni Ruins, Tuchanka)**

Heat radiated up from the gravel crunching under Wrex's boots as he stepped down out of the shuttle. One hand snapped up, shading his eyes from the brilliance of Aralakh's glare. Still, the star struck him blind enough that he felt the impact of small asari against armour before Raxi's face swam into focus. Her seemingly tireless smile beamed up at him as she wrapped her arms around his middle, squeezing him tight even through the ceramic and metal.

" _Makah_ , you won't believe what we found." She released her bear hug just to grab his hand and drag him toward the cargo elevator. "We opened a new chamber!" Still gripping his hand in vice-like fingers, she ran slightly ahead, turning to face him, jogging backwards. "It's pristine! Everyone agrees. We're the first people to see it in fifty thousand cycles."

Before Wrex found a crack big enough to shove a word through, another bundle of blue energy cut him off.

" _Makua_  Wrex!" Liara T'Soni in all her bright-eyed, scholarly zeal, raced out of the dark to latch onto his free hand. "You won't believe this! It's the most amazing discovery. My professors are going to lose their minds." Unlike the solitary, soft-spoken scientist Wrex met trapped in a force field on Therum, the Liara dragging him toward the ruins radiated life and passion, glowing every bit as brightly as the sun.

"It's not going anywhere," he protested as they hauled him between them to the dig entrance then shoved him onto the elevator. "What's so exciting that I have to be dragged around and mauled?"

"Proof!" Liara replied, her grin maniacal enough to worry him. She'd tagged along with her mother from the very first, laying in a cradle while her mother and father sifted through rubble, then sitting on a blanket playing with krogan toys, then tagging along, helping with a plastic shovel, bucket, and sieve. When old enough, she attended the university, never leaving the planet or the excavation for longer than a few weeks.

The ruins … Tuchanka … raised her as surely as her parents, giving her the same passion as her previous life, but with a refreshingly feisty attitude. No more … what was it Shepard called her? … shrinking violet.

Wrex wrapped an arm around each  _nais_ , his hearts pounding hard against his chest wall.  _Rahat_ , he seemed doomed to become terminally sentimental as he aged. He cleared his throat and growled softly. "Proof of what?"

Raxi and Liara shook their heads in unison before Raxi answered, "Nope, you've got to wait and see for yourself. We don't want to influence what you see."

He chuffed. "More than knowing the truth will?" Chuckling, he squeezed them both against his sides, releasing them when the gates opened. They latched onto him, dragging him through two layers of an ancient krogan temple and into another elevator.

They'd discovered the prothean science base beneath a huge krogan temple. When the temple came down during the nuclear war, the prothean base disappeared from history along with everything else. Benezia and Aethyta spent three cycles rooting through the few surviving krogan historical documents to find places the protheans might have sat their asses down. After wasting more than five decades on two false starts, their determination paid off.

After two more short elevator rides and nine more chambers, the  _naisa_ grabbed his arms, pulling him to a halt.

"Close your eyes," Liara said, giggling.

When he hesitated, Raxi elbowed him, her tone insulted as she said, "You don't trust us?" Clapping her other hand over her heart, she turned on her best stricken, sorrowful face: one usually saved for having driven the shuttle into low hanging structures while stunt driving.

Wrex slid a heavy growl over a heartier sigh. "I hope your  _kai'ana_  doesn't learn how to manipulate people like this."

Raxi laughed and wrapped her arm around his. "You're two cycles too late to worry about that,  _Makah_. I started teaching her the day she was born." Her grip tightened. "Now, shush and follow us."

Wrex allowed them to lead him forward twelve paces, then turn right before taking sixteen more steps. He took a deep breath and grimaced, the air biting at the inside of his sinuses. It smelled old and stale, but something much sharper—jagged shards of metal and carbon—formed its backbone.

"Okay, open your eyes," Liara ordered, her voice trembling with enough excitement that Wrex worried about her atoms achieving spontaneous fission.

He did as the  _nais_  commanded, opening his eyes and staring for long moments, trying to decide what stood before him. The dark, gunmetal grey of prothean tech rose above him, but not the usual oblong towers. He turned a slow circle, the room … for it was a room … rising five storeys over his head, the prothean metal and long, glowing lines of green energy creating a space … a cathedral of incredible but sterile beauty.

Along the walls stood what looked like desks, and in the center of the room, a plinth rose from the floor, dual lines of energy climbing each side to converge at the apex, a four-sided pyramid. At the center of each side, a krogan handprint indented the metal.

"Do you see?" Liara said, racing up to touch the slender pillar. "The room was meant for running computer analysis, confirming our belief this was a science base." She ran her fingertips over the handprint. "And this confirms it ... they left all of this—and all the other archives and beacons—for us to find and use."

Wrex strode over and snatched her hand back, his hearts racing, the room torquing his every nerve. "Don't touch that! Who knows what could happen!" He remembered how weak and scrambled Shepard and Liara were after touching minds to share the prothean information … what Shepard told him of having the beacon vision shoved into her head. Who knew what touching the interface directly might do.

Liara gripped his hand in both of hers. "It's fine,  _Makua._  It didn't respond to  _Makah_  or  _Hinah_ , either. We think it needs to be activated by a krogan." She grinned, bright with innocent eagerness.

"What's more exciting," Benezia said from the doorway, "is the possibility of these interfaces existing on each homeworld." She entered, elegant despite her filthy tunic and trousers. Even without the illusion provided by her usual long skirts, she appeared to float across the floor as she approached. "We believe at least some prothean technology uses a direct neural interface rather than manual input."

Wrex bit down on the urge to snatch her hand back as she touched the handprint. Did they all stick their hands into unfamiliar electrical outlets and touch heating elements to see if they burned hot enough to hurt?

As if reading his mind, Benezia nodded. "We're going to do a great deal more study before we allow someone to interact with it." She sighed, a deep, almost wary-sounding breath. "But, what we brought you here to see is in the next chamber. Raxira seems to believe you'll be able to identify what we discovered."

The matriarch led the way through a much rougher doorway and along a tunnel dug through debris. "The rooms on either side of the computer center appear to have been purposefully collapsed." She smiled at her  _kaika_  when Liara stepped past them, entering the chamber first. "Don't fly too far ahead, Little Wing."

"What is it?" The nerves under all of Wrex's plates began to prickle, his fists clenching.

The asari didn't look back. Unflappable as ever. "Something remarkable, and something terrifying."

Wrex laughed, the sound hard and slick, his gut tying itself into a complex knot, a new kink forming with each step. It didn't take a genius to guess at what they'd found, not when he knew what Shepard discovered on Eden Prime.

"What are you doing in my dig site, you old crank?" a deep, rough voice called from amidst the stones and dust. "We need big brains and delicate hands down here."

Wrex laughed again, that one bitter but genuine as he replied to Aethyta S'aris by way of an appropriate hand gesture. Saela S'aris's brash pup formed an excellent argument for asari offspring inheriting genetic traits from their fathers. She looked asari, but inside, Aethyta couldn't have been more krogan.

"If we need someone to crash through a wall head first, we'll let you know." The asari winked, her grin cheeky as she waved him over. "Bring that tiny brain and those massive mitts over here. We've got a crazy-ass theory to run past you."

Wrex rumbled. "I'll do my best to smash through it head first." He looked up, seeing small spaces of the same metal and green lines etched along it through the rubble. Where the last chamber stood pristine, the walls around him backed up Benezia's guess of the room being collapsed. He had a pretty good idea who the protheans had been trying to keep out of the central chamber.

"Anyone you know?" Aethyta asked, stepping aside to reveal a body still half-buried in rubble, the form familiar even coated in a thick layer of dust. "You're old enough, right? He's one of your old drinking buddies?"

The question stabbed a sliver of tungsten under his head plate. As innocently as she'd meant the joke, it opened a wound nearly two centuries old. Instead of replying, Wrex crouched beside the body, brushing away some of the dust obscuring the thing's face.

"It's a collector." He glanced behind him at Benezia. "And you guessed right. The protheans collapsed the base to keep these bastards out of that room." He pushed up, groaning a little as he stood. "If you have prothean DNA on file, run a comparison. It'll tell you the rest."

Liara got down on her hands and knees to peer at the mummified face. "Don't you know,  _Makua_? The collectors are a myth."

Wrex backed up. "Right, and no one here would be so foolish as to believe in myths." He shook his head, suddenly dizzy and breathless, as if the past centuries blasted by in a single heartbeat, and he'd wasted far too much time. "The collectors are real. They live at the galactic core on the other side of the Omega IV Relay. They only interact with the rest of us to collect specimens for their genetic and cybernetic experiments."

Liara flashed a quick glance his way, then prodded at the thing's head casing. "We might be able to get good samples from under the head plate." More poking and then her sample kit appeared, never further than a pocket away. "Hopefully the body dried out in the heat before decay really took hold."

Raxi squeezed Wrex's arm, looking up at him with a mix of terror and awe. He understood; proof made everything feel far too real and impossible.

"They're real." Raxi paused, blanching as the tumblers rolled over inside her head. "If they're as ancient as the protheans, their ships and technology could seriously outclass anything we've got."

Instead of answering, Wrex took a deep breath, then said, "Make the interface in the other room a priority. I want an assessment of the risk involved as soon as possible. We need to access whatever remains hidden under this base."

Wrex tugged his  _kaika_  toward the exit. "Walk me back to the shuttle," he said, his throat twisted tight enough his voice came out far more gruff than he intended. Had he done the right thing, identifying the body? None of the species possessed the ability to go through the Omega IV relay, and if they started trying to take on collector ships, they'd not only be carved into slag, they'd also tip off the reapers.

They'd been lucky that the collectors stopped with the quarians. Any further action could doom them all. It would take an experienced, indoctrinated agent mere minutes to penetrate the council chambers and activate the relay.

He'd kept his eye on Saren Arterius: a stealthy eye watching from a considerable distance. While Prilla, Durrien, and their pups had all passed, Wrex took his oath to Quarn seriously, and maintained contact with the old bastard's great-grand pups. Rennex Quarn kept watch on the not-yet-a-Spectre's training, and so far, hadn't discovered anything odd. Of course, Wrex expected nothing so early in Saren's life. However, he was willing to bet on Desolas, Saren's brother, getting him fast tracked into active service and then into the Spectre training program. The family name carried enough clout to make sure it happened.

Wrex sighed as they stepped out into the sun once again, stopping and turning his face toward Aralakh's heat.

"It's starting, isn't it?" Raxi asked, her voice soft, her grip on his arm tight. "That's why you want to prioritize accessing the computer core."

Wrex nodded, all the knots tied up inside him tightening until they ached. "And we have to assume indoctrinated agents are hiding everywhere. We need to keep information tied down as much as we can." He pulled her into a hug and nuzzled her brow. "Get yourself back to work, I know you're impatient to return to the dead collector."

She kissed his cheek, then turned and jogged back into the dig. "See you at supper."

Wrex watched her go. They needed to find a way to organize before Sovereign found Saren or someone else and started trying to open the Citadel to dark space. They needed a fleet like no other, a fleet capable of taking the war to the reapers before they destroyed the galaxy.

He activated his omni-tool. "Send message to Jack Harper, IPE Inc. dome, Mars. Encryption code Gamma. Harper, we need to meet. I'll come to you this time. Send time and date under separate cover." He climbed into the shuttle, the reply coming in as he keyed in the flight vector back to the gikgah.

The reply contained only a few, terse words. "Agreed. The Shepards moved hours away from main colony along with several other families."

Wrex grunted and lifted off, heading for the mountains and the weapon facility. They needed to be careful, but he couldn't sit still any longer, especially since Shepard's parents moved her away from the defenses of the main colony.

**July 27, 2159 (The Collective, Mindoir)**

Paradise. The single word summed up the planet upon which Shepard's family chose to put down roots. Vast fields of thick moss and wildflowers spread to the horizons. Wrex crouched and snapped off a piece of the tough, frilly-leafed plant, then popped it in his mouth. Varas moss. He turned a circle. And millions of acres of it. No wonder the farming community moved out to the plains. Vast underground water fed the long-rooted moss, which made up one of the most dense sources of nutrition in the galaxy.

"Can we eat some too,  _Makah_?" A tiny blue head peeked around the shuttle door, eyes far too large and pleading.

He grinned. Raxi hadn't been joking when she said she'd teach her sister well. How was he supposed to discipline the little sprite when she gave him the most adorable face in the known galaxy? Taking a deep breath, he forced his face to look stern. "You two stay in the shuttle with your  _hinah_. I'll be back in a few minutes."

He strode toward a tractor cutting the moss at the far end of the field. According to the call they'd received the week before, a small knot of juvenile thresher maws had wriggled up out of the south, venturing close enough to start picking off wandering livestock.

Lifting a hand to the human on the tractor, Wrex stopped to crouch, digging a finger down into the black soil. Even with reclamation equipment, Tuchanka would never grow anything so lush. Of course, it didn't need to. He wouldn't change the nature of his homeworld any more than he'd change his people. Tuchanka always challenged the krogan to stay sharp and strong. His planet's beauty might be wild and a little terrifying, but it remained beautiful just the same.

Wrex looked up when the sound of the tractor died.

"Hello, there!" A human female climbed down and strode toward him. "You Urdnot Wrex, the fellow Warren called about the thresher maws?" Even before she reached him, she dusted her hand off on her worn trousers and offered it, her grip warm and strong when he took her hand.

"I am." He nodded back toward the shuttle. "The crews are in orbit until we find the nest."

"Excellent. Hannah Shepard. Pleased to meet you." Taking off her wide-brimmed hat, she fanned her face with it. She smelled of soil, animals, and sweat … an honest scent, one he appreciated. "Whew," she continued, "good, hot day for drying the varas." She clapped the hat back over a ponytail of riotous red hair. "Anyway … you can bring your shuttle into the village," she said, nodding her head toward a very loose grouping of houses and outbuildings. "I'll give Warren and John a call. They're taking the day shift watching the cattle."

"The maws are that close?" Wrex asked, watching the woman. Granted, centuries stretched between him and seeing Shepard for the last time, but he didn't see the resemblance. Other than the obvious red hair, of course, but Shepard's gleamed more copper than bronze and laid flat and silky against her head.

He saw the woman's mouth move, a crooked smile that he recognized, one that told him she knew he hadn't been paying attention.

"Your first time around humans?" she asked, the question cheery and without judgment or insult.

Shaking his head, Wrex chuckled. "You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago." He gestured toward the shuttle. "My girls are in the shuttle. Can they stay in the settlement while we're dealing with the maws?"

The woman beamed, Shepard suddenly glowing at him from just beneath that unfamiliar face. "We'd be honoured." She reached for the radio attached to her belt. "Let me call out one of the kids to keep mowing, and I'll meet your family at the well."

Wrex nodded, surprised at such a warm welcome. Maybe the krogan should spend more time working with the humans. He'd speak to Mellir about it. The council might be slow to trust, and he might trust Jack Harper about as far as he could throw him underhand, but that didn't make a solid, working relationship a bad idea. He turned and headed back to the shuttle.

Meeka hung out through the hatch, dangling as close to disobedience as she could without actually disobeying. " _Makah_? Can we stay?" She pointed toward the settlement. "Kids! See? Can I play with them?"

Wrex laughed, hearty and full, hearts beating stronger as he scooped her into his arms. Why hadn't he and Samara had four or five more? "Why would they want to play with you?" he asked, dangling her upside down and tickling her side. "Why would anyone want to play with a  _nitti_ as cute and silly as you?"

She giggled and shrieked, wriggling like a hooked eel. "Because I am absolutely adorable and smart and friendly and the prettiest shade of blue in the entire universe."

"Well, in that case … " He set her down on the deck plating, following her into the shuttle. "... I guess you'd better go play." He settled into the pilot chair and lifted off before looking over at Samara. "The pups can stay in the settlement."

Samara nodded. "You've got enough warriors for a handful of small maws. I'll stay with them and learn more about the humans." She chuckled and shook her head. "Do you think they realize the bounty they're sitting on?"

Wrex shrugged, a gelid worm winding through his guts. "I hope the batarians don't." He flew the shuttle into the small cluster of houses, parking it alongside a large truck.

He opened the hatch and stepped down, slammed by a tiny body hitting him at ramming speed as Meeka leaped at him, clinging like a pyjak to his armour. Boosting her up onto his hip, he turned toward the small cluster of colonists gathered to meet the aliens. Right at the very front, so excited she literally bounced on the spot, he saw Shepard. The moment his gaze landed on her, he knew. For all that she'd grown up when he met her the first time, she hadn't changed much at all.

Meeka wriggled to be let down when they stopped at the group of humans. When her feet touched down, she marched over to the little Shepard and held out her hand. "Greetings. My name is Meeka."

Shepard stared at the little blue hand for a moment before closing her fingers around Meeka's. With all the formality and stiff dignity of a diplomatic exchange, the two little ones shook hands. "Hello, Meeka, my name is Jane. I'm very pleased to meet you."

It took all of Wrex's considerable discipline to maintain a straight face even as he cherished the most important people in his life meeting under conditions so beyond his ability to have predicted them.

Shepard stepped around Meeka, approaching Wrex to stare up at him with a solemn, considering gaze far too old for her cycles. After more than a minute, she offered him one tiny hand. He stared at it, awed at the courage behind her curiosity. He raised his pups amidst many races, but he doubted that Shepard had seen an alien before. And yet, she stepped forward before any of the adults.

"Hello," she said. "My name is Jane. Who are you? Are you a krogan? How come you look so different than your kids? Are you from Too-chomp-a?" The questions spilled out, gaining momentum as she talked.

A couple of metres away, Hannah Shepard cleared her throat. The child glanced behind her, narrow shoulders heaving with a melodramatic sigh. Wrex understood: parents and their unreasonable demands. Who cared about manners in the face of discovery?

"Hello," he said, taking her hand. "My name is Wrex, and I'm krogan." He crouched in front of her. "You've never seen a krogan before?"

"Nope." Jane stepped closer and reached up to touch his head plate. "I like your shell. It's pretty."

He chuckled, surprised again. "No one's ever called it that. It's strong and hard, to protect my great big brain."

The child grinned, her laughter warm and soft. "Does it still hurt when you hit your head?" She rubbed the side of her head, her smile changing to a rueful grimace. "I hit my head a lot. When I fall off my pony, and when I'm playing in my treehouse." She pointed toward a thick grove of trees. "Do you want to see it? My daddy built it for me."

Love for a sister—a dear, almost forgotten flame—ignited in his chest, and for a moment, he would have gladly chased after the children to explore the woods and the mysteries within. Instead, he pushed up and gestured toward Meeka. "I have maws to kill, but ask my pups. Half the time, I swear they're pyjaks the way they climb."

Suddenly still, stiletto sharp and thin, Shepard gave him a warrior's grin. "Can I help?" She tossed a handful of annoyed glances over her shoulder. "They say I'm too little, but I want to help. They're just dumb ol' worms."

A man stepped up behind the child, pulling loose a squeal of laughter when he scooped her up and dangled her upside down in his arms. "You know better than that." Despite his scolding tone, he kissed her cheek. "What have I always told you, Dumpling?"

The child stuck out her tongue, rolling her eyes as she recited, "You can help protect the colony when you can shoot my old rifle without tearing your arm off."

"Exactly." Her father set Shepard down and ruffled her hair before looking up at Wrex. "Clan Chief Urdnot, thank you for coming so quickly."

Wrex shook the man's hand. "Where are the maws?" Time to get to work. Samara and Raxi could work on making sure the community—the Shepards in particular—considered Clan Urdnot family. After finding the nest of dead collectors, after finishing the secret shipyards in the Horsehead Nebula with Harper … they needed to keep a close eye on Shepard.

Still, he bent over, his massive head next to her tiny one. "Don't worry, little warrior. One day you'll be taking on full-grown maws with nothing more than a rifle, and they'll call you Commander Dumpling."

Shepard stepped back, looking at him with a comical expression of disbelief and surprise. After a couple of heartbeats, she nodded, solemn … as if making an oath.

Wrex patted her shoulder then headed out. He had maws to kill.

( **A-N:**  Just a quick thank you to those reading, fave and following, and leaving reviews. The support is always so appreciated. Thanks! I hope you enjoy the chapter)


	21. Chapter Twenty-One - The Many Uses of Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pivoting back to meet Jack's stare, Wrex let out a belly-deep roar. "Is it the batarians?" Apparently finding his answer in Jack's expression, he thundered on. "Six cycles early?" He lunged toward the imager, enough fury burning in those crimson eyes to force Jack back a step. "What did you do to piss them off?"

**Chapter Twenty-One - The Many Uses of Masks**

**October 30, 2154 (IPE Dome, Mars)**

Jack leaned back in the chair and rested an arm over his brow, careful not to put any pressure on his eyes. Well, the bandaged-over receivers and electronics that he'd lived with for the past two weeks, anyway. Truthfully, although only Patricia knew, he'd spent the most terrifying two weeks of his life in a void where not even darkness existed. It didn't matter that the doctor gave him a sensor net so he could move around and interact with others. And while it helped, It didn't matter that Patricia never moved farther away than the next room.

He sighed, a long, nasal breath. Patricia's presence and his children's endless optimism helped keep him sane. They deserved more credit than his sour grapes gave them. They kept him tethered him to the light even when he couldn't see it.

The door behind him opened, startling him, but then the scent of antiseptic and Old Spice, and the heavy, loose tread of Dr. Ron Jarvis eased him back down into the chair.

"Well, how are you feeling?" the doctor asked, his stool squeaking like an old buggy across the floor. He stopped close enough for Jack to feel the heat cast by his knee.

"I'm ready to see, Ron." Jack shifted in the chair, uncomfortable being watched without being able to watch back. Patricia teased, calling him, Captain Control-freak, to pull him back when fear made his temper flare. The title pretty much hit the nail on the head.

"I'm going to remove your right bandage," the doctor said before warm, rubber-gloved fingers touched Jack's face, peeling the adhesive away. After thirty seconds and some gentle prodding, the doctor hummed. "Now for the left." Again, poking and then clicking that signaled Jarvis's penlight in use.

"You've healed up very well, Jack. The implants show no sign of rejection, so good news … I'm to go ahead and place the artificial eyes." Fiddling, plastic and paper crackling, more squeaking from the stool betrayed the doctor's position until the penlight clicked again. "We're going to take this slow, and there may be some discomfort as the connections click in and those neurons have to start earning their keep."

Jack wriggled a little, and relaxed his neck and shoulders the best he could. "Let's get it done. I've been on the sidelines for nearly a month with this entire production."

Jarvis laughed. "Believe it or not, Jack, humanity can get by without you for a few weeks."

The door opened, and the scent of strawberries and violets drifted through on the stirred air, announcing Patricia's arrival. The door closed and her hands wrapped around his. "How are things going in here?" She lifted his hand to press a kiss against his knuckles. "You all right there, love?"

Jack squeezed her hand, his heartbeat making a liar out of him as he replied, "Fine, just impatient."

She chuckled. "I feel like I should be scolding you for giving him that sensor net, Ron. He did nothing but pace the entire time." Her thumb caressed his hand from wrist to first knuckle, slow and steady, her magic slowing his breathing and with it, at least some of his impatience. "Never one to sit still, my Jack."

One of her hands stroked the back of his neck, a heaviness and heat behind it that pulled a smile from him. What would he do without her? How had he survived all those long years alone after Shanxi? Taking another long breath, he breathed in her scent, pulling it all the way down into his gut as if he could lock it away.

"My apologies for making him too ambulatory," the doctor said. He took a deep breath. "All right. I'm going to place the right eye. As I said, there might be a slight … " Even before Jarvis finished his warning, the back of Jack's eye felt as if a wasp the size of a Pekingese stung him, the pain sizzling like a lightning strike in his brain. "... sting."

Jack clutched Patricia's hand, his grip loosening as the pain eased back. A slight sting, his ass. Still, it faded to a low, electrical hum, one that felt natural, as if something had been missing until that moment. Strange that something so foreign might feel like home. Of course, the sensation owed its familiarity to that other life.

Patricia stroked a thumb across his cheekbone. "You okay there, love?"

"Yeah, Ron just lied about the slight sting." Jack took a deep, shaky breath. "I'll be ready for the next one."

"Which I'm going to seat right now," the physician said, "so brace yourself."

Rubber-tipped fingers prodded at Jack's face for a moment before another giant wasp stuck its stinger all the way through his eye socket and into his skull. At least, that time he knew the worst was over. Strange, but he didn't recall there being a great deal of pain involved in the installation the last time. Of course, physical pain meant little in that life, his entire being consumed by an agony strong enough to drown out even the worst injury or affliction. He tightened his grip on Patricia's hand.

"All right," Jarvis said, his stool squeaking as he rolled away. "Close your eyes. I'm going to activate them. We don't want to overwhelm you with stimuli."

Jack did as he was told, and then a second later, the void filled with the comforting wash of deep rust red. He'd missed it, that simple view of the insides of his own eyelids, the light creeping through. Chuckling, he squeezed Patricia's hand.

"I take it they're working," she whispered, her lips close to his ear, the tip of her nose cool against his temple.

"They are." He tried to recall the way his world looked through augmented eyes, but he couldn't bring any images to mind.

"Okay, slowly, open your eyes. I've lowered the lights, but if it's too bright or you experience any pain, stop and let me know."

Jack turned toward his wife, wanting her to be the first thing he saw, and opened his eyes slowly. A blurry wash of dim colours focused into Patricia's smile, emerald eyes glistening as they stared into his. Unlike the searing stabs the moment before, actually using the eyes proved pain-free.

He reached up and caressed his wife's cheek. "The most beautiful first sight anyone could hope for."

"Excellent," the doctor said, clearly ignoring the sentimental display in favour of the business at hand. "Look at the projection on the opposite wall, and read the first line for me."

A half hour of fine tuning followed, leaving Jack able to see differently than before, the world somehow both sharper and oddly deeper, like watching a 3D movie for the first time after a lifetime of 2D.

At last he pushed himself up out of the chair and gathered his suit jacket from the hook on the back of the door. He shrugged into it, then stepped in front of the small mirror on the wall above the equally small sink. For a moment, he just stared, the view both overly familiar and terrifying, the ghost of the Illusive Man made manifest. A nightmare pulled into the waking world.

Patricia stepped up behind him and, looking over his shoulder, fixed his collars so they sat properly. "Perfect," she said, dusting down his shoulders. "Just perfect." She smiled and eased him around to face her. "Come on, let's get home. Wait until Matt sees your new eyes."

Jack chuckled, chalk dry. "He's going to lose his mind and demand his own glowing, cyborg vision." He took her hand, then turned to the physician. "Thank you, for getting all of this done so quickly. I appreciate it, old friend." He released Patricia just long enough to shake Jarvis's hand, then slipped his arm around his wife, guiding her out of the office, suddenly needing to escape that specter of his old life. Not that he could, it would haunt him from every reflective surface for the rest of his life.

"Stop worrying," Patricia said once they stepped into the elevator up to the tram station. She pressed into his side, her arm snug around his waist. "We're here, we're all safe. You avoided the war with the turians." She rested her cheek on his shoulder. "They're just eyes, not some portent of things to come."

Closing those eyes, he held her. She felt everything he went through, more perceptive and empathetic than any human being had a right to be. Of course she knew what they meant to him; that other life stalking him from his own shadow, waiting to snatch it all away.

Instead of taking his family for granted, the last handful of years they just seemed more precious and fleeting, as if the day they died in that last life ticked toward them: a deadline. Each second weighed more than the one before, each warning him to cherish what time would surely steal.

He turned his face into his wife's hair and breathed her in, kissing the gold silk before pulling away. "I know they're just eyes," he said, the lie bitter on his tongue. "I know."

**April 15, 2156 (Arcturus Station)**

"Ladies and gentlemen, honorable members?" The voice on the PA squealed a little—feedback from something or other, strange that still happened—and the gavel's sharp hammering echoed off the circular walls of the Alliance parliament's chambers. "Please take your seats." The speaker waited for the members of parliament and the onlookers in the gallery to take their seats before she continued. "As Speaker of the House, I call this Session 23 of the Interplanetary Alliance to order. The proposal set before you today is regarding the purchase of one hundred heavy stealth frigates from Interplanetary Expeditions Incorporated … ."

Jack leaned back further into his corner of the gallery, a large, leather armchair sitting in the shadows where he watched without being too closely watched. He never attended parliament to see how the debates and votes progressed or what bills the members brought forth. He knew all of that before he set foot on the dark red carpet, his chair creaking as he lowered his weight into its embrace. No, he attended parliament to observe the jesters to see which hid brains and cunning beneath their clown costumes.

He watched to see which ones could dance about the king without getting to greedy for power, and those who wouldn't wet themselves and start flailing at the first sign of the headman's axe. Odd how many of humanity's best and brightest proved themselves of little use beyond playing the fool.

"Ah, the magician attends his own show." A broad hood drawn down over her face, ex-Senator Myeki Uong stepped up to his table, taking a seat in the other chair without waiting for him to invite her. She leaned back and crossed her legs, one hand poised like a black and white film star, long fingers holding an even longer, filtered cigarette holder. Odd, that she—one of the most consummate actors and someone dedicated to parting his head from his shoulders—proved the most trustworthy face in the room.

Jack held a vast wealth of pressure points to use against the Right Honorable Myeki Uong, member of the Alliance parliament, namely her philandering husband, Japanese shipping magnate, Franklin Goto. The man's many less than licit personal and business relationships provided Jack with a wealth of dirt under which to bury her without having to bring up their baby daughter. Still, he preferred not to throw Uong out of the 'forthright enemy' column into that of dubious, resentful ally.

She gave a soft sniff and brought the cigarette holder to her lips, pursing ever so slightly as she inhaled, every move a part of her dance. "What brings you here, today?" she asked before exhaling smoke that smelled of jasmine and honey. Even her herbal cigarettes broke the rules, but no one ever mentioned it … well, at least that they'd admit. "Are you simply watching them rain credits down on you, or do you have a more nefarious purpose?"

Jack laughed, low but genuine. All of her noir melodrama entertained him. "My purposes are definitely nefarious, but why would I share them with you?" He reached for his coffee even as an attendant set it on the table between them, the china ringing. A quick nod thanked the young man.

"Because you enjoy showing off for those few people who can recognize your genius even as your spin your web from the shadows." She waved the attendant away with a flick of her hand, her eyes never leaving Jack's face. "So, come, tell me what you are up to here in your corner of secrets."

"I need an envoy to meet with Clan Urdnot and what Urdnot Wrex calls his coalition of undesirables." Jack sipped at the coffee, then set it down. "There are council positions awaiting humanity and the krogan if we are smart about it. Wrex has been playing this game for nearly three hundred years longer than we have, and he has several powerful matriarchs on his side."

"And you need someone who has no problem riding krogan coattails into the council?" She scoffed, and narrowed her eyes at him, more warning than appraising. "The krogan are brutes. The council neutered them all because they are brutes. What makes you think associating ourselves with the krogan and the other outcast races won't block our ascendency rather than advance it?"

Jack looked out over the tiers of MP's, their arguing and passive-aggressive insults carrying past him without hooking his interest. "Urdnot Wrex has turned his race from wandering mercenaries and outlaws into paladins. He's found a way to channel all that instinct and rage into a way of life filled with purpose and honour." His stare cut across to her, then back to the stained glass along the far wall. "He won't let us down as an ally."

Her stare heated the side of his head, the laser focus uncomfortably warm. "How have you done all this?" she asked. "Either you are unbelievably and inhumanely ruthless and possess an uncanny way to hide the bodies—my personal theory—or you're part of a conspiracy on a level so high that even I can't catch its scent."

Jack chuckled and reached for his coffee. "Maybe I just travelled back in time forty years and so possess detailed knowledge of the future."

She scoffed. "Very well, keep your secrets. I knew you'd never reveal the truth, but however you're doing all of this …" She swept her hand in front of her to indicate the chamber and everything beyond. "... it seems to be working in Earth's favour, even if you've become obscenely wealthy in the process."

Jack's turn to scoff. "Surely you've put my accounts under the microscope. You know that other than my family's modest salaries, my share of IPE's profits is rolled back into research and development. The entire push has been self-funded along with my partners and IPE backing." He sipped at the cooling, bitter brew, the taste narrowing his attention back to pinpoint precision. "Haven't you tired of trying to prove my guilt after a decade?"

She turned in her chair, taking a long, elegant pull off her cigarette. Blowing the smoke out the corner of her mouth, she gave him a twisted smile. "Let's say I have tired of our dance. " One perfectly plucked brow arched. "Is this where you pull a magical contract from the inside pocket of your jacket and have me sign over my soul in blood. I, Uong Myeki, do hereby exchange my soul for twenty pieces of silver? That sort of thing?"

Jack waggled his head side to side a little, tacking a shrug onto the end. "More like a keep everyone on the level and under control sort of thing."

She grinned, a startled—if judging by the way her pupils dilated and the quickly controlled leap of one eyebrow—flash of teeth. "Really? You want to make me your headsperson? But Jack, you already have a queen of hearts."

"I have many interests being run by people who, while competent, can't always be trusted to take the more humane route to their goals." Waiting for a hungry flash, he watched her eyes. He always assumed her drive to see him strung up came from moral indignation, but his instincts and his people had proven him wrong more than once. "I need someone to keep an eye on them … keep them from flipping to the dark side."

Eyes narrowed, she held his stare, a silent contest of striking wills and questioning parries. After nearly a minute, she turned to look out over the chamber, her cigarette drawing his attention to her mouth, a blood-red bow against pale skin. Had that skin grown more pale at his offer?

"It means reading you in on some of the craziest and most terrifying intel you'll ever hear," he said after allowing the tension to drain away a little. "And, naturally, it is all highly secret."

When she turned to him, an aura of exhaled smoke hanging around her hood, she let go all of her careful masks. "Why me?" Another quick flash of teeth, but that one looked anything but bright. "Why would you trust me with your secrets? Me, of all people?"

Jack chuckled and reached for his cup, his throat dry. A couple of sips later, the pinch in his throat eased enough to speak without coughing. "You've always been upfront with me. You don't trust me, but you've never lied about it." Setting the cup back on its saucer, he left his hand wrapped around it, pulling in the heat. "I need that honesty. Frankly, I need someone with the guts to stand up to people like Henry Lawson and hold their nose to the line."

"You're not just trying to buy out the competition?" She withdrew a small, metal case from her pocket, stubbing out her cigarette inside it before replacing it. Her chair squeaked a little as she stood. "Better to have me drinking your kool aid rather than sifting through your garbage?"

"I fully expect you to sift through every single bit of trash, account for every bandaid and plank, and eyeball the accounts as if my people were spending your money." Jack sighed and relaxed into his chair. "Think about it. I'll be back on Mars within the week."

Myeki Uong nodded, a slow vertical sweep of her head, deep enough to be a bow. "I intend to."

**May 3, 2157 (IPE Dome, Mars)**

Jack stood at the front of the tram, his hands gripping the ledge of the window hard enough to turn his knuckles white. The tram offered the most impressive views of the dome: the neat rows of houses, the parks and greenhouses, the fields beyond. The dome bustled with life, nearly a million people working and raising their families inside that massive, half-globe of graphene, metal, and force fields.

On Shanxi, his family possessed wide open spaces, grass, and sky. They lived in a big house in a quiet corner of the settlement. He drove his big, noisy car to work at speeds that gave Patricia fits. A good life. They found a really decent and happy life on Shanxi.

Until that day. May 3, 2157. When the turians bombed his house and his beauties into charred bones and ash. May 4, 2157, he, Ben, and Eva reported to General Williams, offering their skills. Two months later, everyone he loved was dead, leaving him alone with his rage and his mission.

"Jack?"

He looked up, then around him, realizing the tram had arrived at his private dock. For a moment, when he saw Patricia—her golden hair gleaming under the lights—he forgot how to breathe, her beauty a revelation. Never one given to fancy, he suddenly understood how the poets referred to their beloved as angels.

He replied with a tight press of lips, trying to pass it off as a smile. A pocket of vacuum bounced between them, and for one, fleeting moment, he wondered if the past decade and a half existed only inside his head, hallucinations and madness sprouting from his grief.

"Love?" Eyes clouded with concern, she stepped over the threshold, the air pouring in ahead of her to vanquish the airless beast.

"I'm fine." He took her hand. "I was just lost in thought." He drew her into his arms and held her, savouring the feel of her body against his. He'd never found another who suited him as well.

Her arms wrapped around him. "It's understandable, today of all days." She rested her head on his shoulder and let out a long, sighing breath. "The kids are making us supper," she said after a long silence, neither making any move to leave the tram. "They have the table set up on the lawn with lights and candles." She chuckled and pulled back just far enough that her gaze met his. "They're calling it a family candlelight romance."

Jack laughed and hugged her back in tight, his face turned into her neck. "That's both sweet and incredibly morbid."

Patricia laughed and then kissed him, soft and chaste. "That's what I said, but they're determined that you make a memory as good as that other one is terrible." Another kiss. "Their very strange hearts are in the right place." She slipped out of his arms, but held out a hand, gripping his with a fierce strength.

"And if this is morbid, let it go unremarked." Her smile contained both heat and love. "But, our children won't be ready for us for nearly an hour." She led him toward the elevator up into the house. "And I think I might have an idea of what we can do to pass the time."

Jack let her pull him along. He might never have realized it until that moment, but he owed his entire life to Urdnot Wrex's volatile temper and the Crucible's destruction.

**November 31, 2162 (Coalition Shipyards, Anadius, Horsehead Nebula)**

**Rahat** \- (krogan) Expletive equivalent to human 'shit'

Jack strode from the elevator, staring straight ahead despite the krogan thundering beside him.

"Three more scuffles with the batarians, one of them inside their own borders." Urdnot Wrex's words came out in a carefully modulated roar.

Jack felt sure the rumble owed its lack of volume to the fact that the base's corridors acted as echo chambers. "None of the 'scuffles', as you call them, were initiated by IPE or the Alliance. They hate us enough to render provocation and reason meaningless." He stopped outside the conference room door, one hand resting on the lever. "We're not provoking them, Wrex."

The krogan chuffed, a harsh laugh, the lack of humour behind it sending a jolt of frost along Jack's nervous system. Despite the krogan's unflinching civility and professionalism, Wrex carried an air of menace around Jack that never eased or abated, even after years of working together. Or rather … keeping watch over one another from the closest range possible.

Wrex leaned in, his huge, carmine eyes narrowed. "Goyle might be able to bat her eyes at the council and spoon feed them that  _rahat_ , but don't think you can shove it down my throat and call it steak." Wrex set his shoulder into the door without opening it. "You need scapegoats for all the work you don't want to admit to doing: all the experimental eezo exposures and assassinations."

Jack met the krogan glare for glare and clenched jaw for clenched jaw. Of course the clan leader saw through the mirage of hands waving and people jumping up and down, calling 'over here … look over here … ignore the man behind the curtain.'

Wrex shrugged, massive shoulders heaving, his armour scraping like diamond against the frosted glass door. "You don't have to justify yourself to me. I've made mistakes that killed millions." For a fleeting second, all the bravado disappeared from the clan chief's face and posture. "Millions." The second passed. "You need to keep the reaper tech out of batarian hands? Fine." He grumbled. "Until you're all indoctrinated and killing the rest of us. Then not fine, but at least there, I hope you learned your lessons."

"But if you piss off the batarians enough, it's going to have consequences beyond what you can predict." Shoving his side of the double doors open, Wrex shrugged again. "If those spill over onto Shepard, you'll need eyes in the back of your head, Illusive Man."

Jack bristled despite the krogan's admission of error, arrogance and indignation flash-flaring beneath his skin. How dare the krogan threaten him? How dare Wrex compare them? How dare he constantly sling the Illusive Man at Jack like an ape throwing feces? There could never be a comparison made between the krogan blundering through three centuries on mostly good luck, compared to Jack's carefully planned and delicately enacted strategy? Not ever.

Once the infuriated steam drifted from beneath his skin—tainting the air with an over-ripe, sickly sweetness—his Illusive Man moment abolished along with it, Jack nodded. He understood the weight the clan chief bore, and his affection for Shepard. Over the course of the war, the two grew as close as blood.

"It's most likely that Sovereign will look to the batarians now," Jack replied, his voice quiet even though they'd arrived at the meeting before anyone else. "The collectors as well. Either way, we need to keep a weather eye on them, particularly now they've withdrawn their ambassador."

Wrex just nodded and took a long breath. "While we're kicking that dead pyjak, we both need to take a look at a basic mistake we've been making in our plans."

Jack stopped and turned to face the clan chief, one eyebrow cocked.

"We've been making our calculations around Shepard."

Stepping back, Jack watched the krogan's expression, surprised by the turn from 'screw things up for Shepard and I'll kill you' to 'we're relying too much on Shepard.'

"We aren't unorganized and unprepared this time. Last time, we needed an icon to pull people together." Wrex held his arms out to embrace the war room. "We're already organized, and we're a great deal further ahead. It's a mistake to rely too much on the odds that Shepard remembers or becomes the same woman." Judging by the clan chief's grimace, the words tasted bitter, but still he took a breath and said, "We need to be prepared to fight the war without her."

His last words spoken, Wrex headed for his seat, heavy strides thudding across the deck plating. The krogan's silence stabbed Jack with contritious splinters. His earlier thoughts had been unkind and false. Wrex never spoke without having something to say and listened with an attentiveness that no one gave him credit for. That amounted to his super power. Despite taking up all the space in the room, he used very little of the air.

Jack walked past his chair to the windows looking out over the Anadius asteroid belt. From that vantage point, he could see all the way down the port and starboard shipyards, each dock filled with partially completed vessels and dotted with the flashes of arc welders. Twenty heavy frigates at a time flew out of those docks, beautiful and complete with cutting edge technologies straight out of their coalition think-tank.

Speaking of …. The doors opened, Rael'Zorah, and his geth counterpart—a diplomacy-research designated platform named Legion—walked through, already deep in discussion of the implementation of ship-based biotic weapons. Matriarch Saela S'aris and her granddaughter, Liara T'Soni, followed the quarian and geth through, as deeply involved in the conversation as their counterparts.

Jack opened his omnitool and jotted a quick note into his schedule to call Gavin Archer and make arrangements for Myeki Uong to spend some time observing the biotics project. Saving humanity came a great deal easier without the entire stigma of being a terrorist organization. Although, unlike the horror of Project Overlord, Archer's younger self seemed to be sticking to ethical practices. They'd even developed an intrauterine treatment to save eezo-exposed fetuses from a wide range of birth defects and cancer.

Still, vigilance remained necessary, no one proving that more than Henry Lawson.

Myeki Uong threw both doors wide to glide between them, her ever-present hood drawn down over her face. Instead of sitting at the round table, she stepped up beside Jack. "We need to talk about Henry Lawson," she said, then moved away before he could respond.

Damn, the woman loved her dramatics, her every movement theatre. She also possessed an uncanny knack for hitting the exact nail he was trying to hammer into place. Neither trusted the other even after years working together, but that distrust made the relationship work, her suspicion exactly what he needed and where he needed it.

In fact, that described all of the people assembling in his conference room, taking seats at his table.

The drell representatives from both Rakhana and Tuchanka entered, solemn and silent, their dark eyes unfathomable. Both brought multiple doctorates achieved at three universities, including one on Earth and another on Thessia, to their sessions. Both also moved with their species' grace, that gift turned deadly thanks to training on Tuchanka, learning from legendary krogan, asari, and turian warriors.

"Can we get this ship launched?" Wrex called as the last few members of their committee entered. "Some of us have other things to do today."

**March 9, 2164 (Cronos Station, Anadius, Horsehead Nebula)**

Cronos Station offered a most spectacular view of Anadius, the star's massive EM field ideal for hiding both the station and the shipyards, although there, Jack took the extra precaution of using the asteroid belt to disguise their growing fleet.

Jack Harper stood at the massive, shielded window, staring out at Anadius's roiling surface. He found the view enhanced his concentration and imagination, stilling his inner dayplanner.

His intercom chimed, dragging him away from that calm refuge and he turned, a sigh whispering between tight lips. "Yes?"

"Mr. Lawson is waiting on the QEC, sir." The slightest hint of distaste soured Ms. Obikwelu's professionalism.

Jack didn't blame her. He'd seen more warmth in a shark's gaze than Lawson managed on his best day. He returned to his chair and sat, one leg casually draped over the other knee. Suddenly, he felt the lack of the glass of bourbon and the cigarette from his previous incarnation. The props formed much of the mask that hid anything real and personal away from associates and enemies alike.

Once he settled, he connected the call, the rigid person of Henry Lawson appearing as the imager scanned him. Instead of greeting the business magnate, Jack simply watched and waited, forcing Lawson to begin the conversation on the defensive. While he'd asked Lawson to call him, Jack never allowed the evil bastard to feel the slightest bit of control.

"Harper," the man said by way of greeting and nodded, crisp and sharp as new paper. "You wanted an update?"

"Have you secured the second reaper corpse?" Jack asked, lacing a good, strong vein of impatience through the words. When they retrieved the IFF from the Leviathan of Dis, Jack ordered it turned over to the ship design team. They needed to deconstruct it and put a workaround in the IFF's of all their ships. Still, he wanted one shielded and stored on the Cronos base just in case.

"We have. It's in orbit of Horizon, and we have the shielded corridors and workspaces installed." Lawson puffed up a bit, his ego unable to assign any credit to anything but his genius. "We've begun the extraction of the IFF, but with your order to restrict time aboard the reaper to less than fifteen minutes, it's going slowly."

Jack shook his head. "I'm not loosening that restriction. Fifteen minutes a day, five days a week." He reached for the bourbon that wasn't there, then covered by brushing away the wrinkles in the rough silk of his trousers. "Are any of the workers showing signs of indoctrination?"

Lawson shook his head. "As you ordered, we monitor their brain waves aboard the reapers and administer cognitive tests every day when they report off shift. In addition, we monitor and log their sleep-dream states to assess even the slightest change. Nothing so far." The man paced the width of his QEC pad. "What we're discovering about these vessels ..."

Taking a deep breath, Lawson swallowed hard enough that Jack saw the man's adam's apple pole vault in his throat. He stopped pacing, eyes narrow and troubled as his gaze locked onto Jack. "We must move faster, and we must research indoctrination." He leaned into the console, the heels of his hands braced against the invisible surface. "We can't hope to counteract it without testing." He closed his eyes, visibly bracing himself. "Without  _human_  testing. Although, we could use prisoners of war; batarians aren't that dissimilar to us. My team assures me they will make acceptable test subjects."

Jack opened his mouth and took a breath, but then he looked down at the empty ashtray and shook his head. "Enough, Henry. As much as we need to research indoctrination, committing war crimes—and without actually being at war—will only ensure that we end up fighting the reapers alone. I refuse to alienate the rest of the galaxy."

He stood and closed the distance to Lawson's hologram. "If you feel that you are unable to follow the project guidelines, I can turn it over to someone else." Although phrased as an offer, Jack launched the words with enough weight to leave holes in the arrogant bastard on the other end. When Lawson didn't reply, Jack nodded. "Very well. Now, what's the situation with the Arca Monolith? Is it in turian custody?"

He needed to rely on the turians to find the monolith as they had before. He'd learned a great deal about the object while working with Ben and Eva on Shanxi, but never where the turians located the damned thing. Which meant waiting for his ears in the hierarchy's communication and intelligence systems to pick up any chatter.

"Nothing solid yet." Lawson's expression lit up, greedy and excited at the prospect of a new toy. "But the turians have a science team working in the Esori system." He picked up a datapad and scrolled down for a second. "Here it is, the research team is on Kailo in the Esori system, Aethon cluster." His stare returned to Jack. "That could be our dig site."

Jack returned to his chair and sat, assembling his pose like stacked marbles, needing the time to fabricate his calm just as carefully. "We'll have our people on Irune keep their ears open. Any intercept will have to be handled delicately." He nodded, twice, so tight and quick that his neck crackled. He swept at his trousers with the backs of his fingers, keeping his temper in check. "How is Miranda progressing?"

Lawson scrolled through his datapad, making a show of finding information that Jack knew buzzed like wasps at the very front of the man's mind. Lawson didn't need to look up his daughter's status, nor did he underestimate Jack enough to think Jack didn't already know everything he would say.

In fact, it spoke to the hubris of the man that he didn't see the fury rolling beneath Jack's calm professionalism. How had he managed to deal with Lawson in his last incarnation without strangling him? The honest answer to that question crawled just beneath Jack's skin, maggots drawn to the rot; Lawson's ruthless disregard for life had been useful, an expeditious means to an end.

Almost a minute passed before Lawson said, "Miranda has completed her post-secondary education. Matriarch D'tarra resigned two weeks ago, and since—"

Enough. Jack sliced the air with a hand. "In fact, Matriarch D'tarra resigned six months ago, and to avoid telling me why, you've brought in thirteen other instructors who have all left for the same reason." He reached over, his finger hovering over the disconnect control. "I'll have a security retinue there first thing in the morning to collect Miranda. She can complete her biotics training with me."

Lawson hesitated, stiffening for a fight. "I created Miranda and those before her to continue my legacy, not to provide you with a social secretary or some plaything." As he said the last, he folded his hands behind his back, squaring his shoulders.

Jack relaxed down into his chair, not slouched, but still. He refused to match Lawson scream for scream; the man could throw his tantrum once Jack hung up. "What is best for your legacy is to have an heir untainted by indoctrination. They'll be there by noon, have her ready." He cut off the channel before Lawson could reply.

He'd have Yakani take a platoon to pick Miranda up. His head of security wouldn't hesitate to shoot her way through everyone on the base if she needed to. Cocking his head to the side, Jack stretched his neck, then his jaw. Talking to Lawson always skewered the muscles along his spine with bamboo splinters.

Ms. Obikwelu appeared in the doorway, a large, steaming mug in her hand. "Thought you might need this." When he nodded, she strode across the gleaming, black-tiled floor, the effect of the reflections an interesting one: as if she floated in a field of stars. After she passed him the coffee, she held out a datapad. "This just came in from the surveillance satellites in orbit around Mindoir, sir. I knew you'd want to see it right away."

Jack set his coffee down and activated the datapad, skimming the information. His assistant knew better that to read tactical information before he did, but she also possessed excellent instincts. And damn, wasn't she right? An incoming fleet. Five slave transports and fifteen support vessels. All his blood drained down to pool in his legs, leaving him dizzy, a sudden aura blinding the center of his vision.

Too soon. They'd come too soon. He looked up, searching his assistant's face for any sign that the situation might not be as dire as it appeared. No luck. Of course not, why should the messenger know by what means fate intended to take its due?

He needed to respond, but did he race in to save Shepard? The main colony had enough firepower to repel the batarians, but the farming colony did not. While it had three anti-aircraft cannons, all the batarians needed to do was land away from the colony. In Grizzlies, it would take minutes to overwhelm the defences on the ground.

"Get Urdnot Wrex on the QEC for me," he ordered, keeping his voice steady and controlled. Even at ten, Shepard knew how to use a gun. Wrex admitted to gifting her scaled-down, custom weapons for her eighth birthday, slipping it past her parents disguised as knowing basic safety when it came time to pass her father's size and strength test.

He stilled his hands' trembling by pressing his palms against the heavy silk covering his thighs. Wrex appeared too slowly, the imager insisting on starting at his feet, climbing his legs with enough sloth that Jack stood, using the seconds to close on the image.

"What is it?" the krogan demanded when he stood there, whole at last. Wrex stared at him for a split second, then turned away from the imager. "Get my ship, krantt, and family ready to fly. We're headed for Mindoir as soon as we all get there."

Pivoting back to meet Jack's stare, Wrex let out a belly-deep roar. "Is it the batarians?" Apparently finding his answer in Jack's expression, he thundered on. "Six cycles early?" He lunged toward the imager, enough fury burning in those crimson eyes to force Jack back a step. "What did you do to piss them off?"

"Does it matter?" The blade of Jack's hand sliced the air between them. "No. It doesn't. How many can you get there, and how fast?"

"I have a hundred warriors a half hour from hitting the relay." Wrex moved to close the call. "I'm taking her off that planet, Illusive Man." The last two words sank venomous fangs into Jack's jugular. "She's not your puppet."

Jack closed the distance, standing practically nose to nose with the krogan's hologram. "It's not about having a puppet. It's about making sure we don't end up repeating our lives again in twenty years." He backed up. "Just get to her. We'll figure the rest out later."

"I intend to." The pad flashed and went dark as Wrex hit the disconnect.

Jack returned to his chair, legs crossed pleat-perfect, and picked up his coffee, holding it between his hands to warm his fingers. At least their work had only stirred up batarians, not the collectors. They weren't ready to fight collectors, but the batarians attacking Mindoir could be spun to move humanity and the krogan toward council positions.

He let out a long breath and sipped at the scalding liquid, wrestling with his previous distress until it calmed. They could end up ahead of schedule thanks to the batarians moving early. And Wrex had always been right: Shepard wasn't nearly as important this time around.

(A-N: So much happening. So many threads coming together. Next chapter, we're off to Mindoir. As always, I can't thank everyone enough for reading, fave and following, and reviewing. I feel like many of you have become friends. *hugs and saucy kittens*)


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two -- Consequences of Their Creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right, destroy the reapers. She looked up through the red haze. Lights ahead, burning brighter than the rest. Shoot the lights? Her trigger finger squeezed, her second hand lifting to assist. Finding a scrap of strength, she straightened, emptying the clip. Fire burst from the conduits, from the platform. It exploded all around her, roaring, a living beast that consumed her. Finally … rest.
> 
> **Trigger Warning for this chapter: Non-graphic mention of rape occurring in the background of scenes.**

**2186 (The Crucible)**

Thunder roared in the darkness, the source invisible beyond the wall of agony searing away her skin. The world smelled like burned hair and cooking meat: her meat. She needed to destroy the reapers. Faces flashed through her mind: all the loved ones who sacrificed their lives to get her there. And Garrus. Always Garrus.

Somewhere, behind her, in the world of pummeling sound and scraping claws, the Catalyst screamed. "No! You'll destroy everything. The Crucible is a power source! It will rip a hole in the universe."

A shudder travelled the length of her spine, tearing muscle loose from bone, the connections already tremulous at best. Pain sliced through all that loose flesh, a serrated blade carving her into bite-size pieces so the fire could gobble them down.

"One decision. The most important decision in our history!" Who said that?

She blinked back her selfish agony. Wrex? Yes, Wrex. He followed her through the beam and carried her to the platform. Wrex roared over the maelstrom. "Destroy them, Shepard."

Right. She looked down at the pistol in her hand. Destroy the reapers. Four years, or near enough, and at least one death insisted she blow them all to hell. No mercy. No cooperation. She couldn't take the road that led to Saren's lunacy. That poor bastard.

But then, according to the Catalyst, she'd destroy EDI and the geth as well.

Wait … what? She'd been doing something. But then a new jolt of agony and the steady river of blood pouring down her side distracted her from the decision. Her armour hung off her body in tatters, too shattered and roasted to deploy medigel. She should be dead. She felt dead. The universe spun around her, and she stumbled, almost going down.

No! If she went down, she'd never get back up. What had she been doing? God, exhaustion clawed at her, trying to get a hold on her. Why hadn't she just laid down? She wanted to lie down, to stop, but she needed to do something. Dragging her right foot, she hobbled along a path. It led somewhere. Where?

"One decision!" Wrex called, the fury in his voice setting her back on the path toward the conduits on the right hand side. "Only one! The most important decision—"

Right, destroy the reapers. She looked up through the red haze. Lights ahead, burning brighter than the rest. Shoot the lights? Her trigger finger squeezed, her second hand lifting to assist. Finding a scrap of strength, she straightened, emptying the clip. Fire burst from the conduits, from the platform. It exploded all around her, roaring, a living beast that consumed her. Finally … rest.

What little remained of her latched onto one last thought. "We won, Garrus. We won."

* * *

 

**Sikah:**  A ritual dagger made from the tooth of a thresher maw awarded to young krogan after the rite of passage.

**March 9, 2164 (The Collective, Mindoir)**

"Dumpling, wake up." Rough hands snatched her from the peace and darkness that followed the fires. "Wake up. Come on, sweetie, up you get."

Daddy? She stirred, leaning up off her pillow, straining to see through a heavy fog of blood and death. Where was she? Dreaming? Had her people plucked her from the Crucible? Had she survived? She tried to speak, but only a breathy squeak came out. Clearing her throat, she tried again, managing a whisper, "Dr. Chakwas?"

No, almost complete darkness greeted her rather than sterile white lights. As well, the air smelled of wood sap and flowers, not antiseptic and ozone. Not medbay, then. She blinked, trying to clear her vision as the hands shook her again. "What—"

_You're dead, stupid, and this is what comes after for people who kill as many innocents as you have._

A hand clapped over her mouth, shoving her back down onto the bed. Panic shook her harder than the hands, her heart fluttering, a hummingbird trapped in her chest. Where the hell was she? She lunged against the grip, bucking and twisting to get free, but her attacker held her tight.

"Sh!" A face appeared next to her, pressed close but still almost lost to the darkness. "Don't speak, Jane. Get up. Go hide in the space behind your cupboard." That voice! A boot stomped down on the hummingbird, crushing it against her spine. What the hell?

Daddy? She stilled, trying to focus on the face pressed against hers. Hoping he'd release her if she agreed to remain silent, she nodded. He let go, and she leaped up, hitting the floor in one quick move. Hands raised, falling into a balanced fight stance, she stared at him, then glanced around the room. The man definitely looked like her father. The room—pale shapes in the light of the quarter moon shining through the window—looked like her childhood bedroom.

_If I'm dead, maybe this is hell?_

"Go now," her father's doppelganger ordered, his whisper piercing the stillness. He spun and ran from the room, his footsteps thumping down the stairs.

Confusion sent her spinning. Her father? What in God's name was all of it? Hallucination? No. She remembered her mother putting her to bed that night. Ridiculous, she last went to sleep on the other side of the battle through London, and spent the night in Garrus's arms. She glanced at the nightstand. What the hell?  _The Black Stallion Returns_  sat next to the lamp, the rearing horse on the cover standing out even in the dim light.

Engines! She turned toward the window. Faint lights bounced off the side of the barn. Incoming vehicles. Damn, she needed a light. Running the two metres to her desk, she wrenched open the drawer, the sound deafening even over the growing roar.

"Jane! Cupboard! Now!"

_Is it the batarians?_

She ignored her father's order, rooting through the drawer until she found her flashlight. Leaving it off, she hurried to the window. Falling stars illuminated the night sky, and for a moment, she just watched the bright streaks of light. The main settlement's AA guns must be ripping through an overconfident batarian fleet. She'd dreamed about the batarian attack less and less over the years, the images growing murky with time and the need to forget. No dream had ever seemed so vivid, her mind unable to bear examining that day too closely.

She ran to her closet, pulling the door closed behind her. Behind the rack of clothes, she slipped her fingers into a knothole and tugged, pulling away a section of the wood panelling. For a score of heartbeats, she hesitated. As much as she wanted it to be, it couldn't be a dream. She remembered it happening before, when she was sixteen. She remembered her father ordering her to hide behind the wall. Obeying, she had hunkered down in the darkest corner, too terrified to even cry. Hunger and thirst drove her out of hiding after more than a day; the Alliance soldiers finding her in the middle of the kitchen floor, her dead mother's head cradled in her lap.

However, all of that took place a lifetime ago. Since, she'd joined the Alliance, become an N7, taken down Saren, fought a war, fallen in love with her best friend, and burned alive aboard the Crucible mere moments before. Hell, the Alliance even turned her family home on Mindoir into a memorial. In the years since she survived the batarians, she had saved worlds, destroyed worlds, and done her best to save the galaxy.

_I died on the Crucible._

What was she doing back on Mindoir? Why did she remember being lulled to sleep the night before by the lilting voice of her mother describing Alec Ramsey's adventures with the Bedouins?

The engines outside dropped in pitch, demanding her undivided attention as they stopped moving. She closed her eyes, listening. Six. Old gen by the sound of them: Grizzlies not Makos. Mass accelerator cannons fired, both directions; the collective's AA turrets answering fire with fire. Hold the phone. The collective had anti-aircraft turrets? She didn't remember that from before. But yes. Men came from town to install three of the high-powered guns. She'd tagged along, fascinated by the massive weapons. The techs gave her sweets.

Explosions. Eight of them and the cannon fire stopped.

The chatter of small arms fire replaced heavy ordnance, and the alarms began to wail, filling the night—filling her heart—with their demand: defend the colony. She rested the section of wall back in its place and reached up, snatching jeans and a sweatshirt off hangars, obeying the call to arms. At sixteen, she'd been able to shoot the wings off a fly. Only the unquestioning obedience of youth kept her in hiding while her family died.

_Not this time._

The gunfire drew closer until she picked out guttural shouts, slavers calling back and forth. Commanders sending their squads into homes to drag out her family and friends. She was still tugging her arms into the sweatshirt's sleeves when the screams began. Shit. Shit. Shit.

She stuffed the flashlight in her pocket and crouched. Which way to go? She couldn't take on a squad of batarian slavers on her own, not without a gun or her  _sikah_.

_Sikah?_  Right, Wrex gave her the blade when she made her first kill: a native antelope analog. He called it her Rite of First Blood. Wrex … what the hell? Instead of meeting him in the lobby of the C-Sec Academy, she'd known Wrex as far back as she could remember. And Samara. Wrex and Samara? Yeah, and they had kids. Raxi and Meeka.

_Too many memories scrambled together, all different. What the hell?_

Gunfire yanked on her reins, pulling her back. Guns, she needed her guns. Wrex gave them to her when she turned eight. Her father kept them locked up downstairs in the gun cupboard. She crept to the closet door, listening. Someone cut the alarms, their blaring voices snipped mid-wail. Just as well. She needed to hear the batarian movements. Light, booted footsteps crossed the living room, the front windows sliding open. Her father, preparing to defend the house.

Much heavier feet thundered up the outside stairs and across the front porch. Damn it. They'd reached the house. She'd never get past her father to get to the guns, let alone avoid the batarians. Her father's old rifle coughed, belching lead; she needed to get to him. Needed to help. Halfway across her room, she caught her reflection in her mirror.

Sliding to a halt, she stared at herself. Fuck, how old was she? She searched her memories, her brain giving her two numbers: ten and sixteen. Dear God, there was no way in hell she'd reached sixteen. At sixteen, she'd been nearly two metres tall and filled out with muscle at a buck sixty. So, ten not sixteen. How? One hand reached out to touch the icy surface of the mirror with her fingertips while the other skated over a butter-soft cheek.

Okay, she needed to focus on the now. No time for how or why. She looked back at the mirror. Ten. Ten against platoon-strength, armoured, batarian slavers. Maybe she should just do as she'd been told and hide.

_Stop it. Stop obsessing over the negative. You're a soldier and one hell of an infiltrator, so focus. Your brain is going to get you out of this, not your brawn._

Right. Brains. So … advantages: Stealth, dexterity, and surprise. Disadvantages: Strength, height, and speed. The first could outweigh the second easily enough, if she used her head. Her brains had gotten her out of far worse situations. She needed to help her parents, but they'd never allow her to grab her rifle and fight at their sides. If she intended to fight, sneakiness ruled the day.

Glass shattered, and the gunfire downstairs stopped. Her father. Last time, the batarians shot her father through the window, the round tearing out his throat. Shepard choked down the tears that flooded her head and took deep breaths. Shattering into a million tears could come later. A door-breaker slammed into the front door. Once, twice, and then the latch screamed and gave way. A single shot rang out, a scream of fury clipping its echo short. Her mother!

Her memory told her that after they killed her father, the batarian bastards had gone after her mother. High on cruelty and bloodlust, they'd taken turns raping her. Shepard clenched her jaw. Not this time! Crouched low, she ran for her bedroom door, feet skimming low over the polished wood.

Footsteps on the stairs. Fuck. She couldn't defend anyone if she got caught. Quick and silent, she ran back into the closet and pulled out the section of wall, ducking inside. After sliding her clothes across to hide the panel, she slipped it into it's spot and latched it in place. As soon as the batarians gave up and headed back down, she'd follow and make sure they all paid.

Moving silently, she backed into the furthest corner, taking refuge where she had the last time, in behind one of the logs supporting the roof. Furniture crashed; both her and her parent's room tossed and torn apart as they searched for her. Fists pounded against the walls looking for a trap door, but the latches held tight.

As the hollers and screams continued downstairs, the batarians working themselves up into a frenzy, it took every ounce of Shepard's training to maintain control of her fury. Shaking hands balled up fistfuls of denim, clenched teeth and jaw stabbing shards of agony through her skull. Why hadn't she kept her  _sikah_  in her room?

"They must have sent the kid out the window," a voice like gravel under tires grumbled. "The sweeps will catch her."

Heavy footsteps crossed her room and then thumped down the stairs to the main floor.

_The roof. Excellent idea, bastards._

She waited another minute as the bootsteps all converged in the kitchen. They wouldn't get her mother down without a fight, but she needed to move. Why had she hid in the first place? Why hadn't she run straight down … tried to save her father?

_And how would that have gone? You're a kid._

No. No, she wasn't. Not really.

Unlatching the hooks, Shepard pushed aside the panel and crept out. The light shrieked and dove at her eyes, furious crows pecking for carrion.  _Not yet, bastards. Not yet_. Throwing up a hand to cut the glare, she closed one eye to preserve the last scrap of her night vision. She won't allow the mewling child to replace the commander. The commander might save them all. The child … well, the child just wanted to cling to her dead father's cooling body.

_The commander, god-fucking-dammit._

She tiptoed across the floor, the steps well-practiced, the path intricate. Her care paid dividends as not a single board squeaked or shifted, allowing her to play the ghost.

The window slid open, a soft hiss of plastic over rubber. Advantage ten-year-old: the small section at the bottom proved an easy fit. Her window led out onto the roof over the back porch. That door led into the kitchen. The kitchen …. Shepard squeezed her eyes closed, hands pressed over her ears as she crouched low against the shingles.

_Build a damn wall, Shepard! Block it all out._

She bit that thought off and swallowed. It lodged in her throat, but her mother needed the Spectre, not the hysterical child that screamed and clawed at the inside of her skull.

Right. She sidled down the roof, then eased her legs over the edge, dangling as low as possible before letting go. The soft straw bales of the foundation insulation cushioned the drop, saving her ankles. She froze and listened. Other slaver squads spread out through the collective, sweeping streets and raiding houses. When she glanced around the corner, only darkness greeted her. That black fog of horror poured in through her neighbours' front doors, filling their homes even as it emptied out the street.

Sliding along the side of the house, pressed against the chinked logs, she made her way to the living room side window. Her father's gun case stood in the corner, right next to that window. The infiltrator should be able to arm up and take them out before they knew what hit them.

She popped the screen and slid open the lower part of the window. She hoisted herself up, doing a forward roll in onto the floor with far more grace than she expected given the commander's skill set. Thank god for Meeka and Raxi teaching her gymnastics and asari hand-to-hand. She landed in a low crouch, balanced on her toes, and froze, listening for any sign they'd heard her entrance.

Nothing. The entire squad either grunted and laughed as they pounded on her mother or struggled to drag their fellows off, shouting at them to get her out to the transport and keep moving. She retched, her mouth filling with bile and half-digested dinner. No! Spectre, not weeping child! She choked down the mouthful of vomit and reached out to pull the gun cabinet door open.

_Daddy! You need to check on Daddy!_

She clenched her teeth and eased the gun cabinet door open, staying in her crouch. Running over to her father's body only left her mother at the batarians' mercy for precious, extra seconds. Swallowing a throatful of snot and tears, she forced herself to turn her back on her bleeding father and reach for her guns.

Luckily, her father left the cabinet open. Slipping her pistol from its drawer, she clicked off the safety. If Wrex knew … if the same thing had happened to him—waking up with two lives in his head—that explained her guns. During the war, after the incident with Cat 6 and her clone, she'd given him one of the M-11 Suppressors. You'd think she'd presented him with the Holy Grail the way he spent the entire weekend taking it apart, cleaning it, and modding it.

The pistol he'd given her two years earlier looked like a cross between an M-11 and Tali's arc pistol.

_That's right, the quarians live on Rannoch and Tuchanka. Wrex changed their history, not to mention the geths' and the drells'. Dammit, Wrex!_

_Focus!_

The gun weighed almost nothing, even with the built in silencer. The ideal weapon for a child-sized commander facing down a platoon of slavers. She reached back in for her  _sikah_. Looping the knife's bandolier over her head, she settled the weapon across her chest, hilt down.

Creeping forward, she wove between the broken furniture, avoiding the shards of glass. The child wailed and began to pound against Shepard's carefully constructed walls as she passed her father's body sprawled in a pool of blood.

_Focus, Shepard!_

Judging by the amount of cursing and fighting going on in the kitchen, her mother hadn't joined him. And she fucking well wouldn't. That time, Shepard could save her. At sixteen, she'd hidden. At ten she'd put bullets through their heads and feed them their own balls.

She ducked across the open hallway and looked toward the kitchen, using the opportunity to scope out enemy positions and number. Six. She'd have to be quick and accurate. Good thing she was both. Taking cover behind the hall desk, she lined up a shot on the brain stem of the one on top of her mother. One shot sent the fucker sprawling face first. Not that she'd left him a face to fall on. A satisfied snarl twisted her lips.

Next shot dropped the one at her mother's head. Cold, calculated, her hands steadier than they'd ever been, she also dropped the one pinning her mama's arms before the rest recognized the danger. Only one realized the common denominator between his dead pals—the shots all coming from the same direction—and spun toward the living room. She didn't give him time to see her before he fell, a small hole between his lower eyes and a much larger one in the back of his head.

The other two fell before they gathered themselves together. Shepard pushed herself up, holstering her pistol in the waistband of her jeans. Before rushing to her mother, she returned to the gun cabinet, snatching her lightweight sniper rifle off the rack. She slotted and locked her night scope in place, then threaded on the silencer. Damn, Wrex must have known. He'd outfitted her for bear.

She growled, the furious rumble rolling in her throat. No, not bear; batarians.

Looping the rifle's strap over her head opposite her  _sikah_ , she turned it until the gun rested flat against her back. Fuck Rambo or the Terminator or Meeka's favourite action hero, Matriarch Fri'loa, these bastards were about to face Commander Shepard!

Staying low and turning off the lights as she went, Shepard raced into the kitchen. Grabbing the first batarian by the collar, she half-dragged, half-rolled him off then knelt by her mother's head.

"It's okay," she whispered, her only answer a low moan. "I killed them. You're safe now." She brushed the fierce, curly red hair back off the blood and sweat-soaked brow. "I'm going to hide you in the cupboard. Stay quiet, okay?"

She leaned over her mother and pulled open the double cupboard doors. "You're going to have to help me, okay?"

A thin slit of green peered up at her through swollen, blackened eyes. After a second, Elizabeth seemed to realize who knelt at her side and reached up, pawing at Shepard's sweatshirt with broken hands. Moans threaded through split lips and broken teeth, her mouth too damaged to form words.

"Sh, Mama, you've got to stay quiet." Shepard looped an arm around behind her mother's shoulder and lifted. "Come on, you've got to help me." Both struggling to move broken limbs and battered flesh, they finally managed to slide Elizabeth into the cupboard. Laying curled up on her side, Shepard's mother reached out, trying to pull her daughter in beside her.

"It's okay, Mama. I'm going to climb up into the tree. Just lay still, I'll be safe." Shepard ran back into the living room, snatching the blanket off the back of the couch, then tender hands spread the afghan over her mother. "Stay very still and quiet." She bent to kiss her mother's cheek. "I'll be back for you as soon as I can."

"No." The word erupted in a spurt of blood. "Hide."

Shepard brushed the softest of kisses across the grisly mess of her mama's face. "I can't. But don't worry, I'll be fine." She shut the right hand door. "I love you." The other door thumped closed with a finality that stabbed Shepard straight through the gut. No romance, no poetry, just jagged steel. Still, she gritted her teeth and pushed herself up. In that other life … in those other memories, everyone had been killed or taken but her.

_Not this time._

Opening the fridge, she grabbed a couple bottles of soda and the fried chicken from last night's supper, then stuffed both into the pack hanging on the pegs beside the back door. Who knew how long she'd have to hold out, and she'd need to keep up her strength.

For a moment, she hesitated at the threshold, the kitchen—usually so warm and full of tempting smells—the center of her family desecrated and stinking sweetly of blood and ….

_No, don't think about the rest._

She gagged.

If she ran back upstairs and hid under her covers, surely the pretty smells of clean linen and summer air could transport her back to safety. Yes, the nightmare would end as it did every other time. She'd roll over and tuck herself into Garrus's heat, his gentle snoring and loving arms easing her back to sleep.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the back door, the image cold and slick like the glass. Everything else in her head formed strings of lies, the pictures waving like flags in an uncertain wind. No, she couldn't trust anything that she didn't see, hear, or touch. The red braids warming either ear: truth. The gunfire and screams of pain: truth. The blood tugging at her skin as it dried: truth.

The batarians had come too soon. Nothing she knew held. Nothing she remembered held: the future nothing but hurricane seas. The multiple sets of instincts and knowledge knotted up in her head, dizziness washing over her in waves of nausea.

_No. Focus, dammit._

Casting one last prayer behind her, demanding that Jesus look over her mother—he fucking owed her—she snatched up her pack and ran out into the night. Keeping to the shadows, she crossed to the barn, using it to cover her sprint to the forest and that first, massive tree. Heart pounding, she pressed against the trunk, looking out to see if she'd been spotted. So far, so good.

Scrambling up the gnarled trunk with the speed and sure feet of practice, she made it up onto the porch of her treehouse. Her father built the two-storey structure for her when she was four. She adored it, but then Wrex declared it a tactically weak defensive position, and built a sniper's nest another four metres higher. She'd learned a lot of new words that day, but when the cursing stopped, it turned out that Wrex possessed some impressive carpentry skills.

Crouching in the deep darkness amidst the canopy, she watched the settlement. Nothing moved along the street. The batarians remained inside the Wongs', Millar's, and Tanguetti's houses. Good. She'd get a few minutes to set up.

Using the windows and roof as handholds, she scrambled up the outside of the treehouse, then leaped onto one of the higher branches. According to Wrex, ladders also presented a tactical weak point. On all fours, she crawled out to the platform near the end of the branch, the limb stretching out far enough to provide an excellent overview of the street. That tactically sound perch had won her a great many water fights.

_Leave that childhood shit behind, dammit. Be the commander._

She reached the platform and unloaded, setting her pack out of the way and her rifle alongside her. A fierce smile started pulling at her lips. After all those years of nightmares and loneliness, longing for family ….

_Time for payback, bitches._

Laying out on her belly, she settled into a comfortable position before reaching for her rifle. Once she started shooting, any movement would give her position away. She flipped down the monopod and couched the rifle in against her shoulder, wriggling a little until she found her sweet spot.

Deep breaths whistled in and out her nose, high and tight. Instead of calming the wildfire of adrenaline roaring through her veins, it just kept tying her muscles tighter and tighter. Dammit, she didn't have time to act like a fucking ten-year-old.

Her eye to the scope, she scanned her sightlines. All clear.

_Calm down, damn you. If you shoot tied into a knot this tight, you're going to miss and get people killed._

Breathe. She needed to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. God, someone would think it was her first rodeo when she'd won pretty much every belt buckle out there. Not to mention having died. Twice. Both times in fire and ice.

" _Hey, what's going on?"_ A heavy, warm hand stroked the back of her head. " _Spirits, you're tense."_ Garrus settled beside her, his Black Widow covering their left flank, the turian as still and silent as death. The sensation felt so real that she glanced up, disappointment burning the back of her throat. Of course, only the darkness stretched out beside her.

Still …. She closed her eyes, focusing on that feeling, on the comfort of her best friend and love of her life lying no more than an arm's length away. Oh, gods, yes. She sighed, the long breath deflating her ribcage, the intricate macrame of muscle and sinew slipping its knots.

Just in time. How many minutes had passed? Didn't matter. Slavers marched the Millars out the front door of their house, a pair of batarians for each member of the family.

_Bet I can take them all down before they even know what's happening._

In the back of her mind, Garrus chuffed. " _The only time you win these contests of yours is when I let you."_

She waited until all eight batarians made it down off the porch, not wanting them to be able to take cover in the house. Quick and quiet. No hostages or mess. Mentally thanking Wrex for the ultra-efficient heat exchange system, she squeezed the trigger. Rapid headshots took down four before she had to pause, taking the last four shots three seconds apart. She hit the first two as they tried to hide behind their captives, the second and third as they ran for the house.

"That's Shepard: fourteen, Vakarian: zero," she whispered to the air, her own voice startling her. Damn it. Still ten.

She watched the Millars helping each other up off the ground, her spine tightening as the kids ran toward the house. She whispered, "No, you idiots, run for the woods." Their parents caught them and dragged them into the dark forest. Good.

Screaming erupted from her aunt and uncle's house at the far end of the street, the volume only outdone by their year-old baby crying. Dammit. She needed a higher vantage point to shoot that end of the street. She leaped into a crouch, knees pulled in tight against her belly, and slung her rifle over her shoulder.

Throwing caution to the wind, she trotted down the branch, gaining enough momentum to jump up, catching the next highest branch on her left. Nails breaking, fingertips giving way to the rough bark, she dug in and hauled herself up until she could sling her leg over.

" _Fancy moves."_

She crawled up the narrower branch on her hands and knees, the thing only six inches in diameter where she stopped and set up her rifle. Peering through the scope, she lined up her aunt's house, an ugly smile greeting the excellent view the batarians' all-lights-ablazin' policy provided. Two shots showered the room in shards of picture window as they took down the slavers wrestling with her uncle.

" _A hundred and eighty metres. Nice shooting."_

"Damn right, big fella."

Picking up a long piece of shattered glass, her uncle leaped at the pair holding Laura, her teenage cousin. A tiger with glass claws, he tore out the throat of one while her round painted the other's brain across the wall.

"We've got a fucking sniper!" a batarian voice shouted from the porch of the Wong's house. "Radio the boss."

Shepard snapped her scope to find him. The bastard hid behind an overturned table. Ha, idiot. Height always trumped cover. One bullet sizzled through the air, an angry insect buzz that sent her mark sprawling in a bloody heap.

_Next._

" _Don't get cocky, Shepard."_

"Yeah, thanks, sage advice from the Grand Duke of Cocky."

Another peeked around the doorway, and dropped without the top five centimetres of his head. At the end of the street, Mr. Millar ran up into her aunt's house. Shots cracked through the air; ice breaking up during the spring thaw. Shepard kept one eye on the end of the street, the other on the Wong's.

Laura ran out the front door of her aunt's, the baby, Celia, in her arms. Shepard waited for her aunt, but just the two men followed her cousin out. Millar pointed toward the forest, sending Laura running for cover while the two of them headed for the Tanguetti's.

Shepard let out a breath. Finally, some backup.

" _Don't let your damned guard down, Shepard. You'll get yourself killed in the last few minutes. How many times have we seen that happen?"_

Shots shattered the air, two batarians breaking from the Tanguetti's backdoor. They separated, one racing into the night, the other disappearing behind the Wong's house. Damn. She winged the runner, needing a second shot to take him down. Sloppy.

"Sniper's in a tree!" The shout came from the Wong's. "Someone draw their fire!"

Shit. Lying along the branch left her too open. She need to return to her nest and its cover. Damn it.

" _Hold your fire. You'll just give them a target," Garrus whispered._

"No shit, Sherlock."

A batarian raced out of the Tanguetti's front door, bolting toward the forest near her tree. She let him go. Hopefully her uncle and Mr. Millar could free the family. If she gave herself away, she'd be dead in seconds. She needed to bide her time, wait for something to distract them.

_Come on, assholes, all I need is a few seconds._

The answer to her prayers came in the form of her uncle's squad-strength band of farmers blasting their way out the front door, shotguns and hunting rifles slicing through the slavers.

"The Wong's," her uncle shouted. "Let's move! Shuttles incoming with reinforcements." He looked up at her perch, his eyes finding her after a few seconds. He turned away, but lifted a finger to his lips: an order to stay still and let him draw fire.

Mr. Millar, all six Tanguettis, and her uncle disappeared into the next house just as a shuttle flew up. She didn't bother wasting any time shooting at it; she couldn't do enough damage with her rifle. Only the AA guns could bring it down. The best hope the rest of their collective had was to escape into the woods and stay hidden until help came.

She waited, breathing slow and easy, as the flying brick landed and the hatch opened. The first batarian off the shuttle dropped, her rifle blowing a ventilation shaft straight through his skull. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her uncle's growing squad sneak out the back, heading to the Pedersen's. Right. She needed to keep the slavers pinned down in the street while the rest of the settlement escaped. A furious grin snarled across her lips. Who knew what was going on in the main settlement, but the batarians would leave the collective empty-handed.

She picked off two more as they stuck their heads out to look for her position, then her world exploded into confusion, darkness, and pain. A massive fist slammed into her from below, launching her off the branch. Scrambling, she grasped at anything … everything, but her hands found only air.

Branches grabbed and clawed at her skin, digging into her even as they slowed her tumble toward the earth. She landed on her side, rolling out some of the impact. Still, the hard ground folded her body in on itself, pain blasting the air from her lungs.

" _Get up! Get up and get your back to the tree. Don't let them flank you. Come on, Shepard."_

But air refused to pass her lips, lungs paralyzed, ribs probably broken. While tough enough to walk a klick home with a broken arm after her pony threw her, she couldn't move let alone stand.

" _Get up or get taken. Move, Shepard!"_

Scrabbling fingers dug into the loamy soil, the world spinning around her too fast to see anything. The black fog slithered back out of the houses, death's hounds stalking her. God, how long had she felt their breath on her neck? It felt like five lifetimes. They attacked—raw-boned and slavering—starved after being denied their pound of flesh so many times. The fog wrapped around her, tying up her arms, but Garrus just kept demanding that she get up until she obeyed.

"What's this?" a voice called as she staggered to her feet.

She yanked her  _sikah_  from its sheath, the blade settling into her hand. Her fighting stance inspired a braying guffaw.

"This is the sniper who's cut their way through my men?" The gravelly laughter froze her bones, locking them in place, actually helping her stay on her feet as her lungs took a first few, tremulous breaths.

"This infant, the spawn of some farmer, brought down over twenty of you?" The laughter stopped, a figure appearing in the dark, back lit and arrogant. "Bring it to me."

" _Okay, you can do this. Stay loose, stay low, and be quick. Take out their legs then go for the throat."_ Not that she needed Garrus's knife fighting advice.

Shepard crouched, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, her  _sikah_  held along her forearm. Surprise wouldn't lend her its aid for long so she needed to wait for the perfect moment.

Three of the slavers closed on her, their hands held out as if cornering a wild animal. Her lip curled. They'd soon wish they faced wild animals.

" _You sparred with me and learned to take me down without a weapon. The height-weight difference is almost exactly the same. Just concentrate, plan first then move. Use their size against them."_

"Shut up, Garrus."

The first one lunged, a quick sweep across her body slicing open his throat as she spun away from his grip. She didn't give the second one time to realize his buddy was down. Dropping, she swept his feet out from under him, the  _sikah_  slicing through all the sinew at the back of his knee. She pulled it free, batarian blood enhancing the blade's hungry gleam. She grabbed the slaver's brow, pulling his head in tight against her body as she slit his throat.

Dancing away, she cleared the bodies, giving herself room for the third. He came at her with a great deal more caution, his mouthful of sharp teeth sneering at her. A sharp sting bit into her neck, shot from behind her in the dark. Dammit. Tranq dart. Gunfire barked like the hounds stalking her, but distant, saving more of her friends. Far too distant to rescue her.

The third man charged, leaving no time for fear or the dizzy nausea of knowing she only had moments left on her feet. She dodged, leaning into her blade as he barreled past her, stabbing the point through his armour and into his lower back. He dropped, pulling her blade loose and allowing her to stagger backwards until rough bark pressed against her shoulder, the massive tree trunk holding her up.

" _Keep fighting, Shepard. Right to the end. You never give up."_

"Don't you sometimes wish I did?" she whispered into the air. Her right knee let go, sending her staggering to that side. Gripping the tree with both hands, she stayed on her feet, a tightrope walker prancing shakily through the sky, desperately postponing the long fall.

Death's hounds attacked, the men all keeping their distance from her blade. She slashed at their teeth and claws, flashes of dirty white and brown in the black. Finally one of the beasts sank its teeth into the back of her thigh and dragged her down. Heavy paws slammed her into the earth, filling her nose and mouth with loam and dead leaves. She spat, gagging on filth as she heaved herself up and the weight smashed her back down. Something tugged at her leg, but it must have just grabbed her jeans; she didn't feel any pain.

"Enough Graz!" the mocking voice shouted from the darkness. "Release."

Release? Not hellhounds, then? Just varren. Fuck, she'd taken down entire packs of varren. She pushed up, trying to get her feet under her. Time to make a run for it. Her first step sent her sprawling, her leg refusing to hold her.

One of the few remaining batarians ripped her  _sikah_  from her hand: Kudos to her for hanging onto it considering the hurricane in her head. "What in the name of the pillars is this thing?" The bastard held it up, the blade glinting deadly and black, absorbing the light.

The boss—the arrogant, laughing one anyway—snatched it away from his man. "A  _sikah_." He laughed, a strangely delighted sound for someone who'd killed a handful of farmers and managed to capture only a single slave. "Earned rather than stolen, I'd wager." He grunted, then the gravelly chuckle ground against her ear drums again. "Have the surgeon treat her wounds, then chain her in my cabin. I've got plans for this one."

_Wounds?_

The ground disappeared out from under her, one of the slavers draping her over his arm. Fuck, no. Shepard retched, throwing up all over the batarian's boots. The world spun, dipping sharply with each rotation as her stomach bellowed to be put back down. She batted at the arm gripping her, but the rolling in her gut kept her heaving, fruitless and exhausting.

Rough fingers gripped her jaw, twisting her head until four, black, soulless eyes stared into hers. He must be drunk because he fluttered and swayed like laundry flapping in the wind. "You're a fighter, aren't you, little one?" Another laugh and the fingers stopped digging into her jaw. "Between all the men I don't have to pay and what she'll earn me in the pits, this may end up making this one of my richest hauls yet."

" _You saved almost everyone,"_ Garrus whispered in the inky nothing that wrapped around her, an obsidian serpent squeezing the life out of her. " _That's not a bad day."_

Not the way her sixteen-year-old memory remembered the day ending. Maybe she died on the Crucible, and her body count landed her in hell. The world lurched one last time then the black smoke swallowed her down.

* * *

 

(A-N: Took a little extra time on this one. It's not easy fighting with so many memories and versions of things in your head. Poor ol' Shepard. Anyway, hope it doesn't disappoint. Thanks so much for reading, faving and following, and your reviews. They are much appreciated. I love hearing from you.)


	23. Chapter Twenty-three -- The Breaking Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once Wrex buried John Shepard and saw to Hannah, he'd start searching for the batarian bastards. If the slavers learned to fear nothing else, they'd learn to fear him.

 

**Makah**  - (Asari) Father. The non-bearing parent.

**Hinah**  - (Asari) Mother. The bearing parent.

**Kaika** \- (Asari) Daughter.

**Nitta**  - (Asari) Pronounced Nee-tah. Asari under the age of majority (40)

**Nais**  - (Asari) pronounced Nah-ees. Asari over the age of majority (40) Plural - Naisa

**Rahat:**  Shit, feces, excrement.

**Sikah:**  A ritual dagger made from the tooth of a thresher maw awarded to young krogan after the rite of passage.

**Trigger Warning for a few gory moments.**

**0530 March 10, 2164 (The Collective, Mindoir)**

Wrex stepped off the shuttle into the unsettled silence of early dawn. Clouds hung heavy and low, threatening to unleash a storm. A quick glance said they had an hour or so before those clouds broke open. Time to find Jane and the Shepards. Still, as he stepped away from the bright shuttle interior, the sky pressed close, warning.

He turned a slow circle, taking in the dead; all batarians, their bodies strewn throughout the cluster of homes. The dead quiet dropped his guts into his boots, but then footsteps on deck plating spun him back toward the hatch. He threw his arms out, capturing Meeka and Raxi before they jumped down. No, they didn't need the burden of whatever waited in the silence resting on their hearts.

" _Makah_!" Raxi's voice reached a decibel and pitch that sliced straight into the meat beneath Wrex's head plate. She slammed into his arm, desperate fingers digging in between the plates of his armour. "The batarians are gone! We're not in danger, and we need to find Hannah and Jane!"

Behind him, Wrex heard the other four shuttles open, krogan warriors jumping out to start the search for survivors. He allowed a moment of pride: his people once again coming through to aid the innocent. When and if Shepard's memories sparked, he knew the new krogan would tickle her as much as they did him. The noise and activity helped ease back the ominous pressure of the oncoming storm.

Samara took their daughters by the shoulders, pulling them back a little. "Let the warriors search first, my beauties. What … " She let out a soft breath, one from the deep, sad place where he knew she still mourned her eldest  _kaika_. It wrapped and constricted around Wrex's chest until his knees weakened. "... what they find might be hard to see."

"I don't care!" Raxi burst past Wrex, breaking both his hearts and his resolve. "If the batarians killed them, I owe it to them to be a witness. I owe them to search and if they're dead, honour them." She stopped, a sob piercing her words. She swallowed and shook her head, a sharp jerk to gather herself. Resolute, she took his hand, her grip sure and steady. "I'm not a child anymore. I'll be fine. Let's go."

Wrex nodded, pride bolstering his defenses, and turned to his youngest, still just ten. He cradled Meeka's face between his hands, the pale, watery blue of her stare a clean, sharp blade. "Not you, little one. Stay with your  _hinah_." He looked past his  _kaika_  to his bond-mate. "Radio the main settlement. See if the collective's people are there."

When Samara nodded, he leaned in to nuzzle Meeka's cheek. "Stay here and look after your  _hinah._  She'll never show it, but she'll need you."

Pouting, tears slipping down her cheeks, Meeka nodded and backed away, allowing Wrex to close the shuttle. He waited until he heard Samara lock the hatch, then pulled his shotgun off his back and strode straight for the Shepards'.

The bullet holes in the smashed in front door and frame of the shattered front window told an eloquent story of John Shepard's defense of his family. The end of which still sprawled on its back in the front room. Wrex paused for a second before crossing to the armchair and pulling the blanket off the back. He spread it over the dead man: his friend.

"I won't rest until I know if they're alive or dead," Wrex said, head bowed. "And either way, I'll track those bastards until I've killed every last one."

"You won't have very many to kill,  _Makah_ ," Raxi said from the hallway. She shot a glance over her shoulder at him. "There are eight in the kitchen. All have had their heads ventilated." She shuddered. "It looks like the bastards were attacking someone when they were taken out."

Wrex crossed over to the gun case, the pit of his gut already telling him what had happened. It was the only way to explain the sensation of freefall. He shook it off. "Check upstairs and the space behind Jane's closet. See if she's hiding somewhere." He crouched in front of the gun case as he heard Raxi's boots racing up the stairs. As soon as he opened the door, he knew Raxi wouldn't find Jane hiding. He opened all the drawers, searching through. She'd taken all the weapons he'd given her.

He stood and bent over to check the open window, the space just big enough for a small child. Attacking ran contrary to her training; John taught her to hide. The family performed continual drills for an attack on the colony. Jane was to hide in the crawl space behind her closet until an adult she knew came for her. His family had done several drills with them over the cycles. The pattern never varied.

What did it mean that she attacked? Memories of being Commander Shepard or …?

He gave her weapons for her eighth birthday. He gave a little girl weapons and filled her head with all the great battles she'd fight when she got older. Wrex staggered back into the wall. The heel of his hand slamming into the window frame kept him from collapsing entirely. Had he just killed his sister? Had he filled her head so full of his warrior  _rahat_  that she attacked rather than hid?

Thunder rumbled, the first threats of the coming storm.

"It looks like she went out the window," Raxi called from above. "Both rooms are torn apart, but no sign they found her." She ran back down the stairs. "The trap door is open, so I think she hid there when the batarians searched the house, then went out the window."

Wrex nodded, his head pounding, stomach threatening to throw up what little he'd managed to eat on the way from Tuchanka. "And came in this window to get her guns and her  _sikah_." He pushed off the wall. "Then probably shot the batarians in the kitchen. John must have died before the batarians attacked Hannah, or he'd have been in there."

Something thumped inside the kitchen. Wrex jumped, his shotgun leaping back into his hands. Raxi alerted, jumping straight into commando mode. She pressed herself against the wall, her pistol—a larger version of the one he gave Shepard—trained on the kitchen. Wrex crept forward on silent feet, staying back far enough to take on anyone she flushed out.

Five seconds after she swung around the corner into the kitchen, she appeared at the hallway again and shrugged. "Clear." Even before she finished the word, she stiffened, and then raced forward. "Hannah. Dear Goddess. Hannah!"

Wrex ran the handful of steps to the kitchen, just in time to see Raxi throw open the cupboard doors. For a handful of moments, he just stared, unable to comprehend the puzzle of blood, bodies, and stink laid out before him. No, not a puzzle, a bundle of bloody, whimpering rags.

Raxi reached in, cooing soft words of comfort, a mother to a child. "Easy. This is going to hurt, but we've got to get you out of here." Then his  _kaika's_  gentle hands scooped Hannah Shepard's head and shoulders off the cupboard floor, and the puzzle fell into place.

Wrex covered the distance in four strides, stepping over the bodies. Even at ten-cycles-old, his brave sister took the batarians out while they raped and beat her mother, then hid Hannah in the cupboard. The child rescued the mother; if they didn't find Jane, Hannah might just shatter. They needed Samara.

Still, he lent his hands to gently lifting Hannah Shepard out of a pool of congealed blood. The woman screamed, her body made a horrifying sticky, sucking sound; the gore possessive, claiming Hannah for death. Wrex growled, his throat harmonizing with the thunder. Death could have her … in a hundred cycles or so.

They moved the battered, semi-conscious woman to the kitchen table and laid her down. As the extent of her injuries became clear, it took all three centuries of his new control to hold a roar of pure fury behind his teeth.

He'd cleanse the entire galaxy of batarians, and the moment he finished giving the galaxy its slaver enema, he'd choke Jack Harper until the bastard's eyes popped out.

"Go get the shuttle," Raxi said, the words sounding a great deal like an order. She shushed the woman's frightened moans and caressed her bloody tangle of hair. "I'll stay with her.  _Hinah_  and Meeka can take her to the main settlement's hospital while we search for Jane." She set a chair upright and sat next to Hannah's head. "Sh, now, it's all going to be okay."

Wrex radioed Samara, then dragged the dead batarians out of the path to the door. When the shuttle landed just outside, he met it and opened the hatch. "Did you get in touch with the main settlement?"

He held out a hand to help Samara across, but shook his head at Meeka. "You stay there, pup."

"Yes, a large group of the collective walked into the main settlement about half an hour ago," his bond-mate said. "They reported eleven dead in the collective, two missing, presumed dead." Her expression didn't leave any question about the identity of the missing persons. "The main settlement lost nearly a thousand—thirty or so dead, the rest missing—and more than sixty injured in the fighting."

Wrex shook off the surging tide of guilt and grief. He'd search for Shepard once Hannah was on her way to the hospital. "Raxi and I'll go looking while you take Hannah to the settlement." He led the way inside. "She's tough, but they beat her to within a hand's reach of death."

Samara looked down at the pile of bodies as she stepped around them. "So, these are John's work?"

Pride joined the emotional storm clouds rolling inside Wrex's plating. "Jane." He nodded toward Raxi. "Help us wrap this blanket around Hannah. She needs to stay warm." Gingerly, the three of them bundled up the Shepard matriarch, each moan and gasp slicing straight through Wrex's armour and plates.

Bracing himself against the woman's half-conscious cries of pain and terror, Wrex carried Shepard's mother out to the shuttle and laid her on the bench seat. "Easy now. You're safe." Brushing a hand over Hannah's hair, Wrex leaned down, meeting the woman's gaze despite only seeing the narrowest sliver of green through the blackened swelling. "My  _naisa_  will take good care of you."

He backed away, helping Raxi down before he closed the hatch. "Come on, let's find Janey. It's the least I owe John." Instead of re-entering the house, Wrex headed for the barn, glancing up at the deepening gloom of the clouds. Lightning backlit the threat. If they didn't hurry, they'd lose any chance at finding a trail when those clouds opened up.

Wrex had sworn an oath when he said he owed John nothing less than finding the man's daughter. While he didn't love the human like he had Decan Quarn, they'd been hunting partners, their children bonded as tightly as sisters. Friends did not come along often enough—even in a lifespan of fifteen hundred cycles—to treat any of them lightly.

"I'll check the treehouse and the nest," Raxi offered, sprinting across the courtyard toward the forest. Wrex watched her leap nimbly into the tree, clambering up to the small house nestled where four main branches met.

Despite his  _kaika_  nearing her three hundredth birthday, he still had to choke down a warning to be careful. Instead of annoying Raxi, he shoved open the barn doors. The pups liked to play in the massive haymow, climbing and building forts in the bales. And the hay offered a million places to hide.

"Jane?" he called, his voice rebounding off every corner of the space, filling it. Outside a low peel of thunder rolled across the vast lichen fields. "Jane, it's Wrex. If you're hiding in here, it's safe to come out." The hay dust tickled the insides of his nostrils. Growling, a low roll of annoyance in the back of his throat, he fought off a sneeze. "Commander Dumpling! Come out. Samara took your mother to the hospital. We know you saved her, pup."

" _Makah_!" Raxi's scream of 150-proof terror shattered the dawn, grabbing Wrex by the head plate and dragging him out the barn door.

He spun, searching, finding his pup standing below the tree, a few shreds of filthy cloth gripped in her hands. Disbelief sank brute hands into the loose flesh at Wrex's throat, crushing all the pipes and vessels carrying life to his brain. A harsh roar of denial broke the hands' grip and he ran to his  _kaika's_  side.

She held out the scraps. Denim, shredded by teeth and claws and soaked in blood. Wrex took them and sorted them out. One leg, or most of one leg.

"Looks like she got some shots in from the tree branch," Raxi said, "but they spotted her and, judging by the lack of bullet holes, used a concussive shot to knock her down." She pointed up at the broken branches. "She rolled down through the branches and landed here."

Wrex nodded, the story unfolding before him in the prints on the ground. Shepard made it to her feet. Both guns lost in the fall, she'd pulled her  _sikah_  and took out three batarians. A fierce grin spread across his face, a low growl of pride accompanying it.

"She killed over twenty batarians before the varren dragged her down," a deep voice called from the far end of the street.

Wrex spun, his gun raising until he recognized John Shepard's brother at the head of a trio of men. The clan chief holstered his shotgun in the small of his back. "She's a good shot."

Lawrence Shepard reached out a hand, gripping Wrex's wrist. "Thank you for finding Hannah and getting her to the docs." He blinked rapidly, swallowed, and looked away. "We're setting out to find Janey." He crouched to check the tracks. "Looks like varren dragged her into the forest, but we had to secure our families before we set out."

Wrex's growl deepened, but he nodded. He understood people well enough to know they'd always secure their own before looking after others. If he had to choose between his  _naisa_  and searching for Jane, would he prove any different?

"They'll set up a den," he said, needing to set his thoughts out along another path, "even if they came with the slavers." Clearing his throat, he hitched up his armour and begun a survey of the ground. As Lawrence said, a varren had attacked Jane, tore up her legs. He dug a finger into the center of nearly a half metre of blood-soaked ground. It never proved easy to tell how much blood drained into soil. The storm sounded another clash of thunder, a warning. Very soon, they'd lose their ability to track her.

The blood soaked in a hand's width, anyway: a lot for someone her size. Perhaps enough to weaken her, sapping all her strength to fight back. Drag marks led off into the bush, the trail—as they began to follow it through the darkness beneath the massive trees and along damp, loamy paths—marred by the occasional tussle: the varren fighting over their prize. Raxi found the second clue, a shred from a child-size fleece shirt. Wrex walled up the part of his mind that had begun to accept his blood-sister's fate. "The shirt could belong to anyone."

"No,  _Makah_." Raxi wiped her face on the backs of her hands and held up the shred so he could see the golden horse leg printed on the material. Blood all but obstructed the print. Slipping an arm around his waist, she rested her head against the chest plate of his armour. "It's Jane's."

"The trail keeps going," Lawrence said, the hope in his voice bolstering Wrex's just as it began to weaken. "We owe it to her to follow it to the end. From her sniper's nest, she saved almost everyone in the collective." He boosted his pack and rifle up his shoulder then set out along the trail of paw prints and drag lines. "She kept the batarians pinned down in the street while the rest of us escaped."

"She's a warrior," Wrex said, the words falling out all wrong angles and sharp corners. "The size of her heart matters, not the size of her body." He glanced up at the sky as pure blue light flashed through the forest. "We need to hurry. Pick it up or we'll lose any chance of finding her."

They discovered more shreds of clothing and a site where it looked like the alpha—due to the size of the paw prints—and another varren fought. Blood tainted the earth, and at the far side of the area, a cave dug into a loose wall of glacier rock. Five varren stalked out the mouth, snarling and wary. It didn't take varren long to shake off what their trainers stuck in their thick skulls. Varren chose to accept someone as their alpha, they were never tamed.

Wrex pulled his shotgun loose of its holster. This sad band of mongrels wouldn't last seconds. And he'd slice open the guts of each one until he knew for sure the trail ended there. Even if it did, the trail to the batarian bastards who attacked Mindoir wouldn't end until their blood fed his  _sikah_.

Against five people armed with shotguns, the varren stood no chance, but Wrex took no pleasure in the kill. It was a means to an end, one he dreaded more than anything he could recall. Stomach heaving, and just barely contained, he waved Raxi back and knelt next to the alpha. The alpha always ate first.

" _Makah …._ "

"Go check the den," Wrex said, the words barely more than a bark. He'd allow his warrior goddess to do a great deal, but search through a varren's guts for her friend …. Nausea seized his insides again, wrenching them into knots. No. He might not be able to shelter her from all the darkness, but he could shelter her from that much.

When Raxi started walking toward the den, sideways, her feet dragging through the leaf litter, he turned his attention to his  _sikah_. Drawing it from the sheath, he stabbed it between the front legs, slicing down the center of its belly to the rectum. Varren had digestive systems made of steel, their food breaking down over more than a metre of stomach. He sliced the length open, steeling himself against what poured out.

He opened his omnitool and scanned the mess, a litany echoing in the back of his head.  _Don't be Shepard. Don't be Shepard._  The analysis pinged several DNA sources, but he homed in on a significant portion of human genetic material. Using the tip of the  _sikah_ , he dug through the digesting meat, discovering a ball of braided hair with a chunk of scalp still attached, two large fragments of human rib, and about a kilo of muscle.

"What are you doing?" Lawrence asked, crouching at Wrex's side, a clenched fist pressed to his mouth. He belched, betraying his soft stomach.

"Looking for any trace of your niece," Wrex replied, holding up the bloodsoaked mass, shards of copper glinting in the last rays of light. Shoving himself up off the cold, damp ground, he carried the hair and other remains away from contamination, and scanned them. A DNA match popped up from the colony's records:

Shepard, Jane A. Born April 11, 2154. Colonist ID # IPE7-1-3-Mindoir

A low growl rattled in the depths of Wrex's chest, the sound exploding out into a keening roar of loss and rage. How many centuries had he waited to fight by Shepard's side once more? How much had he yearned for her wise, compassionate council? And now … he faced the fight, not alone, but without the … without her.

A soft moan drifted from Lawrence's throat, pulling Wrex out of his downward spiral. "No, not Janey. God, both John and Janey. Hannah—" A sob cut him off, and he turned away, returning to the alpha varren's body. "Drag the rest of the varren over here." He pulled a large vial from his pack and poured it over the corpse, smoke immediately rising from the flesh as it ignited. "We can't bury Janey, but we can be certain her remains are cared for with respect."

"Den is clear," Raxi called from the mouth of the shallow cave. Wrex turned to face her, their stares locking across the dark glen. Wrex opened his mouth to tell her, but then Raxi shook her head, cutting him off. 'Not yet,' the gesture told him. 'Let me pretend she's alive for a few more seconds.'

Pointing at a spot a metre or so away, she called, "More scraps of sweatshirt in front, though." She bent over, picking up shredded cloth.

Wrex closed his omnitool and dove into his belt pouch for a clean plastic bag. He dropped the patch of scalp into the bag and sealed it, shoving it back into the pouch before Raxi made it to his side. "We'll bag up all the pieces. Maybe it'll help us track the batarian bastards."

He returned to the fire, gathering Raxi in against his side when she reached him. "I found Jane, pup." Hugging her close, he bent to nuzzle her brow. "She couldn't sit by and hide this time."

After a second spent visibly floundering, Raxi nodded and wrapped her arms around him. "She was so brave."

"The bravest of us all." Lawrence's voice came out thick, bubbling up through a throat choked with tears and phlegm. "As was her father … my brother. This place will feel like a ghost town without them." He smiled through his tears. "Jane used to run into our house before dawn on hunting days, come racing up the stairs and jump on our bed. Janette and I'd pretend to be asleep, so she'd sit there, staring at me until I couldn't help but laugh. As soon as we broke, she ran in to wake up Laura."

Wrex stood in silence, rage rather than peace seething with each breath that burned down into his lungs. He hated being right. While they could certainly fight the war without Shepard—now the factions were beginning to accumulate sufficient numbers and the tech to deal with Sovereign and the reapers—Shepard's beautiful, brave spirit deserved better. The rest of the galaxy deserved better; they deserved to know her and learn to love her as he did.

Once he buried John Shepard and saw to Hannah, he'd start searching for the batarian bastards. If the slavers learned to fear nothing else, they'd learn to fear him.

The storm erupted, lightning cracking the boiling clouds open, spears of blue-white slicing across the heavens. Rain followed, pouring down on them with a fury that belied the dense canopy above them. Wrex sheltered Raxi against his side, grateful for the deluge drowning out any opportunity for conversation. Shock hung from his hump like a boulder, dragging behind him with each step.

He needed time. They all needed time to comprehend the impossible. Death before its time shouldn't register as impossible. They lived in a cruel universe, and he'd been a warrior for a very long time.

A shuttle awaited them at the collective, its interior warm and dry. Wrex climbed in, then took Raxi's hand to help her up. They sat side by side, Raxi tucked in against him, all of her independent, young cockiness disappearing to make room for  _Makah's_  little  _nitta_.

Even once the shuttle set down outside the hospital at the main colony, Wrex didn't move from the seat. Moving meant telling Meeka about her brilliant, fierce friend's death. It meant his entire family mourning their loss and trying to help Hannah through hers.

"Guess we should get this over with, huh?" Raxi shifted out of his arms, his side bare and bereft, if not cold, in her absence. She stepped down onto the gravel walkway and looked up into the storm clouds from the shelter of the raised hatch. "Mindoir is mourning," the maiden whispered. "Maybe it remembers her last life when she got a chance to grow up running through its forests and swimming in its rivers."

That idea grabbed Wrex and dragged him off the shuttle. Grasping Raxi's hand, he hurried her through the double doors and to the front desk. If he spent another second thinking about everything he and Jack Harper and the batarians had stolen from Shepard, he'd lose his mind. Or worse, his temper.

"Hannah Shepard's room, please?"

Thank the ancestors for Raxi finding the words, her voice strong, her tone belonging to the budding scholar and statesperson. The deluge thundering inside Wrex's skull remained too loud—too ferocious—to form thought. He promised to protect her. A long, jagged knife stabbed through his chest from beneath his arm, piercing three of his hearts. Every good and just action Shepard took, everyone she saved in the course of her career, everyone she befriended and loved. Gone. She deserved so much better; the galaxy deserved so much better.

Vakarian.  _Raha_ t. What did he do about Vakarian? Should he seek him out, keep watch for him to recall his previous life? What if Wrex interfered and made things worse for the turian as well? No, best to leave Garrus alone until the young turian came looking for him.

" _Makah_?" Raxi tugged at his hand. "Come on."

Numb, gratefully so, he followed his  _kaika_  down the sterile corridors decorated in the IPE patented dark teal and greens. Samara stepped through the door as they approached, almost as if waiting for them. She met Wrex's eyes, her blue ones growing stormy and grey, matching the skies on the other side of the windows. As always, she didn't need him to speak in order to know his thoughts and feelings.

She turned back to the room, returning with Meeka just as Lawrence arrived at the door. Wrex stepped aside. Family should tell Hannah that her daughter fought like a klixen, saving the collective from death or a far worse fate. Meanwhile, he needed to tell his tiny jewel the same thing. Unsure how he'd find the words, he led his family down the hall, looking for a quiet space.

They discovered a few empty seats near a employee entrance, the rest of the hospital crowded with both the injured and family members praying for word of their missing. When they sat, Samara lifted Meeka onto her lap, holding their  _kaika_  against her breast.

Huge, blue eyes stared at him, their usual eager excitement drowned in dread. " _Makah_? Did you find Janey?"

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Wrex nodded. "We did, pup. She fought like Shiagur, killing more than twenty batarians, three of them with her  _sikah_ , but they shot her out of the tree." He stroked a heavy, gentle hand over Meeka's scalp crests. "She's gone to her ancestors, pup."

The storm clouds in his  _kaika's_  gaze broke open, tears raining down her cheeks. She looked from Wrex to her  _hinah_  and back before asking, "Can we light the fires at The Hollows for her?"

Wrex scooped her off Samara's lap and into his arms. "We can, and we'll hold a great feast for her: make sure the ancestors have everything they need to take good care of her." He rocked her gently as she clung to him. "We'll make sure everyone knows she was the bravest of us all."

Samara and Raxi joined the embrace, arms strong and warm, faces wet. No one said anything through their tears. The time for words—planning his retribution for Jane Shepard's death—would come, as would the time for revenge. The clan chief's hearts beat hard and slow, each thump resonating through him like the massive bells that once cried from the apex of each gikgah, sounding out the death of a great warrior. He clenched his jaw, resolute in the knowledge that the batarians would face him and understand the depth of their mistake before they died.

He didn't know how much time passed before someone cleared their throat from the doorway. Wrex looked up to see Lawrence standing at the threshold, his billed cap clutched and twisted in his hands. The cap reminded Wrex that the man—in fact, all the members of the collective—were farmers. Not soldiers, not fighters, farmers.

"Wrex, Hannah wants to speak to you." Lawrence twisted his hat another half turn. He glanced up for the sparest of seconds before returning to his study of cap destruction.

"I'll be there," the clan chief replied, leaving the timeframe open. He'd be there for Hannah Shepard for as long as she required, but first he insisted on being there for his family for as long as they needed him. For as long as he needed them.

"Go, speak with Hannah," Samara said several minutes later. She extracted Meeka from Wrex's embrace, settling the child on her lap. "We'll be here when you're finished." A gulping swallow preceded her next words. "Hannah's not doing well. I'm not sure she'll long survive knowing both Jane and John are gone."

Wrex nodded and leaned in to nuzzle Meeka's brow, then Samara and Raxi's. Still, he remained in his chair. What did Hannah want from him? Somewhere to place very justifiable blame and rage? The brutal details of her child's last hours and moments?

Samara laid a hand over his. "She needs you."

He rumbled, chastising her, no heat simmering beneath it. She knew him far too well, always playing the cards she knew he couldn't resist. Turning his hand over, he squeezed her fingers and nodded.

Boot treads on tile floor filled the corridor with hollow echoes as Wrex turned toward Hannah's room. He never spent much time with Hannah. The farm and her family kept her busy for what seemed twenty-seven out of every thirty-one hour day. With more in common, Samara and the human woman had grown close; surely Samara's presence would offer more comfort.

Pausing outside the room, Wrex looked down the hallway, searching for some sort of rescue. The form didn't matter, as long as it came along quickly. Nothing materialized. He entered.

"Wrex."

He winced away from the horror story, told all the more eloquently against white sheets and blankets, but then forced himself to look back. As Raxi said, they needed to bear witness, to mark the moment. Otherwise, everyone the tragedy touched suffered in vain. When the woman reached up for his hand, he took it, holding it gingerly between his his. Never before—not even when he held his  _kaikas_  for the first time—had his hands seemed so massive.

"After I get out of here," Hannah said, as if practicing to become a ventriloquist, her lips too swollen and broken to move, "may I move to Tuchanka and study with your battlemasters?"

The request threw Wrex back onto his heels, broadcasting his surprise through a truly dumbfounded expression. Three heartbeats passed before shock turned into awe. Damn if Shepard didn't come from people whose hearts beat with the same, fierce courage as her own. Maybe, somewhere way back, someone had mixed a little krogan into their DNA.

Hannah let out a pained breath. "There's nothing keeping me on Mindoir. Not without John and Janey." Another breath, that one riding a soft moan. "The only thing pulling the next breath into my lungs is the hope of finding justice for them. Can you help me?"

Wrex nodded, sealing his oath. "I will."

( **A-N:**  Holy cat doodles. What a chapter to write. I feel as though I should offer hot chocolate and blankies and warm cookies along with it. Maybe even kittens. Thank you so much for reading, I know these next chapters will require quite a bit of trust on your parts. I hope I don't let you down. To all those who review, thank you x a million. You keep me excited about the story and give me the oomph to keep writing when I falter. I love all of you! *hugs*)


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four - Adjusting to Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fighter just got out of the medigel suspension this morning, so take it easy for a couple of days." The batarian chuckled, the tone ringing with a sharp sort of mirth. "Don't break it, but, trust me, if the trainer turns its back on this one, it will be the last thing the trainer does."
> 
> Trigger warning for brief warning that include the indirect threat of beatings and rape as consequences.

**Sikah:**  A ritual dagger made from the tooth of a thresher maw awarded to young krogan after the rite of passage.

 **Puer**  - (turian) Child.

**March 20, 2164 (Erszbat, Vular System, Kite's Nest)**

Sound stabbed through the black fog entombing her. It carved a small hole, allowing two gravelly, male voices to echo through. Batarians. She tried to force her eyes open, but even a hydraulic winch couldn't lift her eyelids. Drugged, then. Damn. Disoriented as hell too, which meant drugs for a long time. Her stomach heaved, but she swallowed it down, fighting to hold still, make herself small. To hide.

Someone banged—a fist against wood—sending her heart leaping straight into a gallop like a spooked yearling. No. No no no. She crushed the fear, packing it down. Thirty-two year old war hero and commander, not ten-year-old baby crying for her mother. If she panicked, she'd give herself away before she assessed the situation. Taking slow breaths, she wrestled her pulse under control. Infiltrators didn't panic. The tighter the trap closed around her, the calmer and more calculated she needed to be.

Where was she? Still on Mindoir? She sifted through memories. What was the last thing she remembered?

_Mama? Papa? Mama! Where am I? Where am I?_

" _Shhhhhh."_  The susurrus of calming sound blew down through her, curling around her heart like a friendly cat. She knew the sound ... the subvocals rolling just beneath the whisper. Not Mama or Papa.

Flames exploded through the momentary peace, blasting it into fragments. The shrapnel sliced up her heart and lungs, sending them into convulsions, the pulverized organs slamming against her ribs.

The Crucible. Fire and explosions. Wrex shouted beyond the blinding fire, and then her father woke her up. Batarians attacked their home. Fury washed into the space fear left behind, a tsunami rushing in after the waters pulled back to reveal the epiphany of the seafloor.

Her father told her to hide. Instead, she fought and saved her mother. She saved a lot of the farmers, too. Then the batarians shot her out of her perch.

Garrus! She'd heard Garrus during the fight. Her heart sped up again. He'd been there. Wait. No. She left him on the Crucible. Still, his voice helped her through the fight against the batarians.

She searched her body, tensing and flexing muscles, moving enough to check for injury, but too little to alert the batarians. Nothing hurt. But she'd been dragged down by varren. She felt the animal claw at her, its massive teeth sinking into the back of her leg. And just like that, she arrived back at wondering where she was.

The banging repeated; someone knocking on a door, maybe? She needed to stay calm and use every last second to gather intelligence about her situation. She'd defeated the fucking reapers, she could escape a pack of slavers.

"Ah, Kra'Torvus. Come in," the deeper of the two batarian voices called out. "Give me a second to finish up this call." The batarian paused, his voice significantly louder and impatient. "Rallo, stop mewling like a beaten pup. Urdnot Wrex is not going to be easily mollified. Whoever we have here, she's important to Urdnot. Just make sure every trail ends a long way from here. Oh, and drop the last few of my men she didn't kill into a ravine somewhere. I'm not giving up this prize." A fist slammed against wood. "Report in when you have something solid. Not before."

Another pause, then the batarian cleared his throat. "All right." He spoke as if checking the next item off a list. "Kra'Torvus, come the rest of the way in."

Footsteps. "You sent for this trainer, Master Krasev?" A new voice—a turian voice—asked. For half a second Shepard considered rolling over to get a look at the new arrival, but then common sense pummeled her curiosity into a coma and shoved it into a gutter, leaving it for dead. Her unquestioning trust in one turian meant dying a fool if she trusted the remainder without question.

Drawing a long, silent breath in through her nose, Shepard tried to flesh out her surroundings. The way the sound echoed, meant medium-sized room. One reeking of cigars, cleaning chemicals, and industrial flooring. As the newcomer passed, he carried with him currents of soil, grass, and the slight spice of turian sweat. He also smelled faintly of wood sap, deciduous though, not coniferous. Someone who spent his time outdoors rather than in a mine or machine shop. No sickly-sweet, bloody-meat shadows clung to him, so not a torturer; the stink never washed off of them.

"I got the trainer a gift on Mindoir, and I didn't want to waste any time presenting it," the batarian said, drawing her attention back to him. "I got you a new fighter, Kra'Torvus." A chair creaked, then footsteps approached her. "Now, don't say I've never given my slave a pretty gift," he said, a mocking fabrication of affection. "The fighter came complete with this."

Nocent odours accompanied the batarian, drowning out the turian's more pure scents with cleansers, colognes, and alcohol. Exchange the cigar for cigarettes, and she'd swear the Illusive Man stood over her. So, money then. Or the pantomime of money, anyway.

"A  _sikah_?" the turian asked, his voice sharp, subvocals of alarm pinching the back of Shepard's neck.

"Indeed. Can the trainer read it?"

An oddly placed pride saturated the batarian's voice. He seemed to believe he'd done something remarkable, not unlike the rich, entitled hunters who paid hundreds of thousands to go on safaris to shoot big game trapped inside fences.

"Clan Urdnot." A soft chuff followed, the sound wrapping a tight hand around her throat.

_Garrus? Did you follow me? Did I lose you?_

"She earned this blade from Urdnot Wrex himself." The turian's subvocals curled around her ear drum, a respect-filled caress.

"And killed three of my men with it, another twenty or so with a sniper rifle, also a gift from Urdnot Wrex." The batarian closed until the toes of his boots pressed against her scalp.

She clenched her teeth, her fists begging to bury themselves in the batarians giblets and dig around for the soft, meaty bits for things to rip out. Then the turian spoke again.

"With respect, Master, Urdnot Wrex will track someone so close and important to him. He won't stop until he finds the slave." The turian creaked with the unmistakable sound of light, leather armour as he crouched next to her. One large hand pressed against her cheek, turning her head. The touch soothed her rage. "It's a child."

"Yes, but one that fights with the fury of the ancients." Letting out a long sigh, the batarian walked back to his chair and sat. "I'll fight the slave at two events this cycle with plenty of lead-in time." A lighter flicked, followed by puffing and the sweet stink of fresh cigar smoke. "As for Urdnot Wrex, don't worry about him. When I saw the  _sikah_ , I carved out enough meat, blood, and bone to convince the galaxy it died in the attack."

The words carved a cavern around Shepard's heart. His machinations and misdirection would cost her a rescue, leaving it to her to escape.

"How long has the slave been healing?" Gentle hands moved her limbs against a rough, woven surface—why hadn't she realized she was naked except for a flimsy paper smock—dispassionate as they examined her wounds. "Cloned tissue or grafts to replace what was stripped away?"

"Ten days and cloned. The fighter just got out of the medigel suspension this morning, so take it easy for a couple of days." The batarian chuckled, the tone ringing with a sharp sort of mirth. "Don't break it, but, trust me, if the trainer turns its back on this one, it will be the last thing the trainer does."

Ten days? She'd been missing for ten days and the batarian bastard talked like no one had gotten close enough to get his hackles up.

_Fuck. Wrex, you've got to be smarter than that._

"Understood, Master Krasev. What is the fighter's name?" Those gentle talons shook her. "Wake up, little slave."

"Kra'Lozen, is its name."

She bit down on her tongue, trapping her 'hell, no' behind grinding teeth. Her parents had given her a perfectly serviceable name, and the name she came back with after defeating the reapers ... she earned that fucker.

The batarian shifted in his chair, metal grinding against metal, clawed sounds scraping along her nerves.

"Take it out to the border for its training and protect it. If anyone tries to touch it, put them down, and let me know immediately. It's already implanted with the devices, and I've sent the codes to the trainer's omnitool, but try not to use them. The fighter is no good to me broken or brain damaged. I'm hoping to schedule its first fights for four months from now, so get it ready." Another gleeful chuckle. "I'm planning my retirement around this fighter, Kra'Torvus; she's going to make me millions. Don't fuck this up."

"Yes, Master. This slave will ensure the fighter is prepared."

Her chains rattled and tugged, then long, strong arms slid under her, lifting her off the floor. The turian cradled her securely, her body curled around the base of his keel, her head resting on his chest.

Oddly, she didn't have to force herself to relax, remaining limp in order to maintain her charade of being unconscious. The energy coming off the turian felt ancient and slow, embracing her in a grip as safe and as tight as his arms. He called the batarian 'master', making him another slave. Judging by the lack of resistance in his tone, he'd been one for a long time.

Doors opened and closed several times before the atmosphere changed from sterile and cool to humid and alive with heat, insects, and people. Machines roared, people shouted back and forth, and animals lowed with the familiar fuss that accompanied feeding time.

The soothing roll of the turian's gait continued uninterrupted and silent until all the sounds of civilization disappeared. He stopped even though the rest of the world continued to move around her, the wind whipping the trees back and forth, the leaves singing with crisp, raspy voices.

_Garrus? Are you here, yet? I know you're imaginary, so hiding is sort of strange. Come on, love._

"It can stop pretending to be asleep now," the turian said. He moved to set her down. "Time to put those feet on the ground and get them working." When she opened her eyes, she met a crooked smile and a cocked brow plate. "We've got a ways to go yet, and the trainer won't carry the fighter the entire way."

Shepard allowed him to stand her up, gripping his arm to steady herself. Damn, it really had been ten days since she bore weight. The world spun around her in slow loops, her stomach flipping over with each revolution and reset. Nothing hurt, though. She closed her eyes, running an internal analysis as she moved her limbs, but other than the dark intensifying the dizziness, everything functioned.

"Although the fighter probably overheard the trainer's name during its recon in there, the trainer's name is Kra'Torvus. The fighter's name is now Kra'Lozen." He turned her to face him, his talons gripping her shoulders with enough pressure to prick her shoulder blades. "The fighter has been implanted with two devices. One gives pain, and one renders it unconscious. They are both embedded too deep to remove. Don't try, it'll either cripple itself or cause permanent brain damage."

Shepard laughed and shook her head. "It's not in my nature to give up my freedom without a fight. Do you really expect me to just bow my head and accept my fate?" She met his cocked brow plate and raised him a sneer. "I'll kill everyone between here and the gates if it will buy my freedom." Her head ceased spinning, and she backed away a little, glad to move under her own power. "You won't be able to keep me here."

"Everyone between here and the gates is a slave, just like the fighter. Guards are all picked from captured families, so their children and spouse can be held over them." A sweeping gesture invited her to look around them. "The most effective guard is the land. The slave is thousands of klicks from civilization. Shuttles dock in orbit and all communications are equipped with isomorphic lock out. Satellites can pinpoint the location of small animals, let alone a tiny human. No slaves escape."

Studying his eyes, Shepard tried to deduce whether or not he truly believed the company line he sang like a good little member of evil's chorus, or he merely recited the lyrics by rote. Something in those brilliant indigo eyes said that he'd seen every scenario in the book play out, none of them ending well.

Kra'Torvus sighed and nodded toward a large tree trunk lying across the path. Without waiting for her to follow, he walked over and sat, his forearms resting across his knees. "Look,  _puer_ , the trainer is not here to fight with you. It's a smart  _puer_ , unnervingly so. So, listen and believe the trainer when it says, being a fighter is the best a slave can hope for. It's hard work, but it's outside. Fighters get the best food, water, and shelter, and are well protected."

Shepard turned a slow circle, his words washing over the outer layer of her thoughts as she took in the compound in the distance. Further out, she saw signs of mining. "Why would I be more protected than any other slave? Aren't we all just cattle or grist for the mill?"

A startled, unguarded laugh leaped from his mouth, his subvocals just as surprised. "Grist for the mill? How old is the slave,  _puer_?"

"I don't know about this 'slave', but I'm thirty-two. Just ignore the ten-year-old body." She slammed her arms down over her chest, suddenly feeling even more naked than her paper outfit left her.  _Come on, Garrus. Where the hell are you, big guy?_  "So? Why am I protected?"

"Because not even this trainer can take a broken mess and turn it into a winning fighter. A fighter needs to hold onto all its attitude and rage." He patted the spot next to him. "That means no beatings, no torture, no backbreaking labour, and no rape."

He shrugged and let out a long breath when she shook her head, her bare feet rooting into the ground. "If the fighter tries to escape once, it'll probably get away with spending a week in the mine, but it'll be without the trainer there to make sure no one beats the slave down or rapes it. If it tries to escape again, the fighter will be taken straight to the brothels. It'll spend the rest of its life chained to a bed if it's lucky, chained over a post in the mud if it isn't." He shuddered, his stare haunted, some tiny part of his mind driven insane by the memories he locked up in there.

"It might get an overseer who protects the slave until it reaches thirteen or so—uses it to draw baths and clean the brothel—but those overseers are rare. More than likely, the slave would end up dead before it turns thirteen. If it fights rather than whores, it will be sold for a great many credits to someone who buys slaves to rip them into pieces." He stood and hopped over the trunk. "There's the fighter's freedom,  _puer._  The slave is free to choose to come with the trainer or run and face the consequences."

Shepard watched after him for a second, then looked into the distance.

" _You're a ten-year-old dressed in a paper gown, Shepard. How far will you get?"_

A long sigh of both annoyance and relief met with Garrus's altogether too logical logic. He hadn't left her. And he was right; she wouldn't survive the first day. If the slaver didn't just snatch her again, she'd die of exposure. Glancing after Kra'Torvus, she took a deep breath.

 _All in favour of waiting and finding an opportune moment to escape?_   _Aye._

" _Aye. Do a little recon. Figure out where you are. Fight smart."_

_Look who's talking, Mr. Turians-don't-duck._

She walked as far as the fallen tree, clambering over, all elbows and knees, disjointed body parts flailing. Hitting the other side on her feet, she thanked the gods of lucky falls, and set off after Kra'Torvus. A shuffling jog seemed all her body could handle, her feet tangling in the roots and leaf litter if she tried to speed up. Sweet Jesus, she came back from two years of death with more strength and coordination.

" _Your body is ten, Shepard. You're going to have to modify your expectations."_

She muttered a cuss and sped up, pushing herself on. Nobody set limitations on her. Not even imaginary remnants of lovers. Garrus knew better. They held a silent agreement: she wouldn't punch him for being over protective if he didn't harp too much on her about taking care of herself. Pain stabbed up her leg as she stepped on a twig, either the pain or the memory of Garrus making her stomach churn.

At ten, she didn't possess the strength or stamina to enact some sort of cross-country escape. Instead, she'd need to be patient and wait for a chance to slip away when they headed to civilization. She stopped halfway up a steep hill to lean on her knees, her lungs burning.

_Damn it, Shepard. What about ten-years-old aren't you getting?_

Sure footsteps in the dead leaves approached her. "Don't push the fighter too hard today. It'll take a couple of days to recover from the weightlessness of the medigel suspension." She looked up, meeting the turian's stare when he crouched in front of her. He reached out, laying a hand on her shoulder. "We can walk from here. It's not far."

Shepard leaped out from under the kindness as if acid dripped from his hand. Slaves who fed and supported slavery ate from the same poisoned bowl as their masters. Any noble face Kra'Torvus showed her amounted to a big ol' spoonful of that self-same poison. She pushed up off her knees and looked around at the forest. "Let's not pretend I'm anything other than your captive. I might pity you because he's beaten the pronouns and proud, turian spine out of you, but that's the extent of it."

She stepped around him and set into a jog up the path. Nose in the air, back rigid, she hoped she'd chosen the right direction. Going the wrong way drained a good deal of dignity and emphasis out of saying something mean and running off. Relieving her worry, but ramping up her annoyance tight enough for her teeth to squeak every stride, Kra'Torvus jogged up beside her, taking the lead enough to herd her along the right path.

As it turned out, his idea of it's not far turned out to be about an hour further into the middle of nowhere. After ten minutes or so, she relaxed into the run, her muscles and feet numbing while her mind chewed away at her fragmented memory. So, somehow her consciousness got blasted back through time to the night the batarians attacked. Only, the attack came six years too early. Probably because of Wrex. His involvement in her life had to mean he'd travelled back with his memories intact as well. In order to try to protect her, he'd interfered.

Surely, he wouldn't fall for the batarian bastard's scheme and stop looking for her. And what about her mother? Had she saved her mom? Would anyone find Hannah Shepard before she succumbed to exposure and her wounds? Hell, would anyone find Jane Shepard before she grew old and died as a slave?

Her heart tied itself in a stitch, bending her over. Oh, God, what about Garrus? If Wrex remembered, would Garrus? And if she never escaped, what would her turian lover do? Would he search for her and never find her? She needed to escape.

 _Dammit, Wrex_.

Kra'Torvus slowed to a walk, his change in pace forcing her to look around at their surroundings. They slowly climbed the side of a low mountain, the higher peaks glistening white to their far right. Dense forest surrounded them, but it thinned a little as it continued up the mountain's flank. She glanced at her running partner.

The turian stopped and stared out over the wilderness. From their angle, a sharp prow of mountain hid the mine and main compound from sight. As she watched him, the hunched shoulders and bowed spine straightened and fire sparked in his eyes.

"How far have we come?" she asked, not really expecting an answer. She couldn't judge reliably her thanks to her insanely short legs, but she figured they'd covered a good seven klicks.

"Almost eight kilometers. I've been taking it slow." The turian nodded toward the path, but then dug into the pouch at his belt. He pulled out two bottles of water and offered one to her. "Do you want me to drink from it first?"

Shepard studied the teasing expression on his face for a couple of seconds before snatching the bottle from his hand. "Why? You're not allowed to poison me. The worst you can do is drug me or make me sick, in which case you'll have to carry me." She twisted off the cap, dumping about a third of it straight down her throat. It landed in her stomach like a live "I don't think you want to carry me."

"Fair enough." He chuckled, but then his mandibles dropped, and he cast another long look out over the valley. Maybe his captivity dragged from those broad shoulders, a far heavier cloak than it appeared. Maybe he spoke from experience about spouses and children held as means of control. After a second, he chuffed and looked down at her. "How do you know Urdnot Wrex?" he asked, walking away at an easy amble.

Shepard's raspberry echoed off the trees. "Which lifetime?"

He shot a glance over his shoulder, the cocked brow plate and stiff mandibles clearly saying that he wasn't amused. In fact, he inhabited the spirit of the ancient queen with eerie accuracy.

Letting a sigh of pure ten-year-old petulence fly, she shrugged. "Fine. He came to clean out a nest of maws when I was five, and his family and mine became … well, we're family." Visions of trying to keep up with Meeka's fleet feet as they raced along forest paths filled her heart with longing and sorrow. Meeka. Raxi. And Samara, the asari matriarch so much more open and happy than Shepard remembered from her previous life.

Surely the slaver's tricks wouldn't throw Wrex off her trail. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, grief and terror threatening to turn clouds into a thunderstorm.

_Come on Wrex, find me. I know you … there's nothing you won't bulldoze through._

"And? How does that lead to being given a  _sikah_?"

Doing a double-take, she realized her escort had left her behind. Ten running steps caught her up with the long-legged turian. "When I turned eight, he gave me a pistol and sniper rifle, both special models customized for me. He taught me to use them and to hunt. He presented me with the  _sikah_  after my Rite of First Blood."

"And you killed more than twenty of Master Kralev's men?" He nodded toward her water bottle, a silent order.

She took a couple of swigs. "Something like that. I don't remember how many, but I kept them pinned down on the street so the rest of the farmers in our collective could escape into the forest." She capped the bottle and looked up the mountain. Her feet whined and her legs quaked, insisting she sit and consider never moving again. "How much farther?"

"Another two kilometres," he replied, taking her bottle when she offered it. "For this morning. We have to go to the supply cabin to pick up our drop this afternoon." He shrugged and stuffed the bottles back into his belt pouch. "Unless you want to spend the next several months dressed in a paper wrapper."

Shepard sped back up into a jog, forcing her shaking limbs to get with the program. She'd pay with interest tomorrow, but she really just wanted to arrive somewhere, and stop the series of tornadoes careening around inside her skull. Well, she also didn't want to spend the next several months wearing a paper smock.

" _Doesn't it worry you that you've become so used to living in a twisted nightmare universe that the running a half marathon in paper scraps and bare feet hasn't even registered?"_

_Shut up, Vakarian._

Still, she backed off ever so slightly. Her feet really did hurt. Luckily, Kra'Torvus allowed her to set the pace, staying just ahead and to the right. The trees continued to thin, making the forest easier to traverse, the underbrush kept under control by browsing wildlife and livestock. Funny how little things like that slice of livestock management trivia felt as close as her next breath, right alongside Garrus.

Their path ended at a small cabin made out of logs, its roof one of moss-covered slate shingles: to blend into the forest during flyovers, no doubt. Two large chairs sat on a covered porch. The moment her legs … hell, her entire body saw them, they begged her to take a seat and let them recover from the long trip. Shepard looked up, scanning the bright sparks gleaming between the heavy foliage, searching for the sun and some idea of the time.

"It's nearly midday," Kra'Torvus said and climbed up the stairs to the porch. "I'll make you something to eat once we get you settled in." A sharp nod indicated the chairs. "Sit down, catch your breath and check your feet. We've got a couple more kilometres to put on before the end of the day."

"Wouldn't happen to have a pair of contraband sneakers in there, would you?" she asked as the rough wood dug into the tender soles of her feet. Blood splotched the skin, mud and sap dotted between. Damn, they would hurt like a mother by the end of the day.

_Mother …. No, shut up. Don't go there. You've got to lock them up and throw away the key. You can't be ten. You can't be that carefree little girl. Not anymore. You need to be the commander. You need to stay alive and escape._

"I do not have any shoes specifically tasked for sneaking, and if I did, I'd hardly give them to an unproven escape risk." The trainer appeared in the doorway carrying a large cup and a first aid kit. "But, I have electrolytes and medigel."

Shepard's face twisted into a revolted sneer. "Mmmm, electrolytes, my favourite. I can't wait to drink down some of that sweaty armpit goodness." She slumped into the first chair, a rough sigh slamming her stoic determination aside with a wrecking ball.

Kra'Torvus set her cup and the first aid kit down then returned to the cabin's interior.

"Soak your feet in ice water while I make you some food," he said when he returned. He set a basin at her feet. "Then we'll get them wrapped up and ready to move on." After lifting both of her feet into the basin, he stood and disappeared back inside. "You should have told me they'd gotten so banged up. It's going to be a painful trip up the mountain this afternoon."

"I'm used to pain." Wasn't that the truth? Shepard bit down on the insides of her cheeks as dual spears of agony stabbed into the bottoms of her feet, ripping their way up through her calves.

_Don't scream and call him a motherfucker. Don't scream and call him a motherfucker. Don't scream. Don't scream. Oh for the love of god, where is Karin when I need her?_

A blur of movement in the trees yanked Shepard's attention from her feet, tossing her straight into adrenaline hell. A shape coalesced about ten metres in. She blinked and rubbed her eyes once she conquered the urge to attack. A large, stuffed pony walked toward her. She checked herself over for the signs of a stroke. Nothing. Squeezing her eyes closed, she sucked in a long, slow breath. After counting to ten, she peeked out through one eye.

Yep, a large, stuffed pony ambled its way between the tree trunks. A brown and white spotted pony, just like the one sitting on her headboard. He'd watched over her while she slept since she turned three.

She stood up in the basin. "Dear lord. Mr. Cinaminnum?" She rubbed her eyes, blinked a few times, and looked back. No. No, no, no. She wrapped her arms around herself, pinching a little, trying to wake herself up. Invisible, childhood friends did not just appear. It offended the very nature of them being invisible friends. She tightened her grip until her shoulders ached. And yet, there it stood, not quite solid, but definitely there.

It had to be a hallucination brought on by drugs and stress. What else could it be? Her heart flipped back and forth between racing and freezing into a lump. Madness. Showing up in her very changed ten-year-old life had driven her crazy. Then the pony disappeared, replaced by a rangy turian dressed in blue and silver armour.

A sob caught in her throat, escaping in the form of a moan. She stepped forward, stumbling on the side of the basin, splashing water everywhere. "Garrus?"

(A-N: Okay, I almost didn't make it, and my beta is out of town, so forgive my errors and oddnesses, because I did make it. Chapter on Thursday as promised. :D And the truth is known! And OMG, thanks so much you guys. So many gorgeous people sent in reviews and comments last week. It made me crazy happy to hear from you guys. You give me and this story life. Thanks everyone, so much, for reading my little bout of insanity.)


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